<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Lover of Mine by qrstomlinson</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985646">Lover of Mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/qrstomlinson/pseuds/qrstomlinson'>qrstomlinson</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Eventual Romance, Face-Sitting, Harry likes to spend money on the things he loves, Law School, Louis strips to pay for law school, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Recreational Drug Use, Shower Sex, Smut, Top Harry Styles, Wall Street, me versus changing my description every time i find a section that would fit better lol, sorry for the first person, there’s one time harry kind of bottoms but it’s brief</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:27:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>121,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/qrstomlinson/pseuds/qrstomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn’t back down often. He’s powerful, he’s stubborn, he’s filthy rich, he’s absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. </p><p>But right now he looks small—his posture less confident, his left hand fiddling with the rings on the right, and he’s making himself so impossible to read yet so blatantly obvious, and why are the best moments always the most complicated in the end? </p><p>The rain soaked through his shirt, and he’s starting to shiver now, but to blame the weather for that would be ignorant. This is something else. </p><p>Harry finally raises his head, rounding his shoulders back like he does before he goes into a big meeting, yet when he opens his mouth, his voice is quivering. </p><p>“I never intended to fall in love with you, Louis Tomlinson,” he says. </p><p>And it all clicks into place. </p><p> <br/>(Or the AU where Harry Styles has a lot of money and Louis Tomlinson just needs to get through law school)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gigi Hadid/Kendall Jenner, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne/Original Female Character(s), Niall Horan/Original Female Character(s), Zayn Malik/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>293</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>per usual this is one hundred percent fiction and NEVER happened. </p><p>this is a small introduction to louis and harry as we'll get to know them. it's rather mild. for now. </p><p>i also plan on updating everyday-ish so if this reaches anyone, bear with me!</p><p>(also also i didn't edit this so cheers)</p><p>(also x3 this is a first person fic from louis's perspective, so i'm sorry to disappoint those who are avid third person readers. i like both styles and have seen them both done very well. i'm just personally more comfortable in first person because i like the idea of really deep diving into one character and letting the dialogue tell the rest of the story)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bass pumps through the club and becomes a part of my veins, the music dripping off the speakers and falling in droplets on my skin. It’s some remix of Stripper Hoe by Cardi B (the irony of that), and it’s not my style but I need to work with it. Gigi always told me that to be successful I need to feel the music, so I close my eyes, hands gripping the pole next to me, and I let go.</p><p>All around me I can smell everything that makes this club unique—musty cologne, the sweet spray of fruity perfume, a combination of hard liquor and tobacco. While I’m a young man working his core muscles pretty hard right now, there are three other girls in this section working even harder. They’re able to do more than I can just because they don’t have a penis in between their legs, and I used to consider that a disadvantage until I realized it was that exact part of my anatomy sending me home with stacks of cash every night. Actual stacks of cash.</p><p>When I open my eyes, I’m upside down, performing a new trick that Gigi and I worked on all week. I still haven’t perfected it, and the burning in my thighs reminds me of that, but I try to ignore it as I slide back down to the ground. The tens and twenties on the ground around me tell me the effort was at least acknowledged. Who said that this was objectifying the people working here? If anything it’s the one tossing the cash on stage to watch me spin around in a golden g-string with the issues if they’re paying my bills for something they could look up on the internet.</p><p>Whatever. It’s almost time to make my rounds anyway, and that’s my favorite part of the night—playing with ties of businessmen who are happily married but can’t admit to their wives (or themselves) they like to watch a man strip. Sometimes they smell of nice cologne but mainly it’s just regret. Their eyes are so glazed over from expensive whiskeys that they’d do anything for me, and it kicks them in the gut. But there’s a man I see at the end of the stage, and he doesn’t look regretful. In fact, he might be the only one confidently enjoying this. I’m attracted to that confidence.</p><p>A cigar hangs out of his mouth, various gold rings decorating his fingers while he sips what appears to be a high-end bourbon. I figure he has cash, mainly because he has the entire bottle next to him, and each time he’s beckoned the waiter he slips a hundred dollar bill into his pocket. Money buys you a lot here and ultimately that’s what we’re after. We’d do anything for it.</p><p>“He’s been watching you,” Gigi calls behind me. I make sure my hips keep moving when I look over. She’s twisted around the pole, smiling at everyone she sees as she twirls.</p><p>“Everyone should be here to watch me,” I counter, my legs relieved at the feeling of cold metal as I too wrap around the pole.</p><p>“You know what I mean,” she says after a literal beat, and I do. She’s right. He’s the kind of man I hope for each shift.</p><p>I decide to make my rounds after this move, cleverly moving my body towards them in a way that indicates they should prepare their cash now. It’s arrogant, but I wouldn’t be in this business if I didn’t have at least a slightly oversized ego.</p><p>The first few conversations are typical and short, full of soft porn dirty talk and fondling ties and chests. They’re successful, tuck a gran tucked into the waistband of this g string, and it’s just the start of the night. I hear the bills on the counter in my apartment disappearing, and I can’t help but smile a little to myself.</p><p>My next customer is Jerry Fields. A regular. Late fifties. He normally comes after work with vodka stained breath and an argyle sweater. Never uses his credit card, always asks those around for a cigarette, has two older daughters both in medical school. They want to be surgeons. I would hate to be in competition with my siblings like that.</p><p>“Good evening, Mr. Fields,” I coo, running his tie in between my fingertips. Gigi taught me how to subtly tug to trigger their desire to come in for more. It works, of course, and he lurches forward, deciding to get a little grabby and caress my hip. He smells like usual and then some. Must’ve had a bad day. I stop his hand sensually, rubbing over the pulse point on his wrist. “The only way you get to do that is paying for a dance. You know that.”</p><p>It’s a smooth discipline that’s enough to trigger his “How much is a dance?”</p><p>I pause to think just for the show of it. “About a grand.”</p><p>“That’s highway robbery!” He shouts over the music, drawing the attention of a few of the other men around him including the one next in line. He’s the one I’m most intrigued about and also the one who’s eyebrows raise the most. I swear everybody around here thinks we’re helpless, but I have a bracelet on my wrist that shoots security a cry for help the moment I tap a button.</p><p>I laugh a little and shake my head, keeping up my facade of sex appeal while sternly asserting, “You’re in upper Manhattan in a high-end club, Mr. Fields. Why else do you think the minimum amount to watch is $10 per song?”</p><p>He opens his mouth and then promptly shuts it, pushing his chair back to get up and walk away. Honestly, I’m relieved. He was the last person I wanted to give a dance to, and now I get to turn around and start my journey towards Mr. Gold Rings.</p><p>The more I crawl towards him, the more I can tell what he’ll want. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me the entire journey here. Not even to turn his head and blow out the cigar smoke. I wet my lips, drag my eyes over his entire figure. To put it mildly, he’s gorgeous. The rings catching the light and showing off his fingers, the soft brown hair slicked back over his forehead, and fuck that smirk like he knows he’s the most attractive man in this joint tonight.</p><p>When I go to twist his tie in my hands, he surprises me by moving forward enough that I can hear him with no issue over the music.</p><p>“You said a grand buys a dance?”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“Done. How much for a private room?”</p><p>“Four grand plus the one you’re already paying.” That’s a lie. It’s actually two grand plus the one he’s already paying, but he doesn’t have to know that. Not when he’s radiating dollar signs.</p><p>“I’ll take it.”</p><p>“As soon as I finish my round, I’m all yours,” I tease, managing to run a hand over his shoulder.</p><p>He’s easy to please, his jaw clenching when he looks over at my hand on his suit. When he turns back to me, his eyes are darker than before. “Six grand total and you leave me with right now.”</p><p>That’s an offer I was taught never to refuse and why would I?</p><p>“You have a deal, sir,” I reply, and I tell him I’ll meet him in the back to take him to the lounges. Not many people make it back there. Not many people can afford it.</p><p>He nods, standing up and smoothing his hands over his suit. I watch his hands fix his cuff links, catching a glimmer of a designer tag.</p><p>Armani.</p><p>So this is how the night is going to go.</p><p>As I move to the back of the stage, I’m careful to wait until Gigi’s done with her specialty move. It requires a lot of leg, and I’ve learned my lesson after returning home with way too many high heel cuts on my cheeks.</p><p>“Gi, I’m going out for a cigarette,” I tell her, and she knows I don’t smoke, and she knows it means someone asked me to go in the back with them.</p><p>“I have a lighter if you need it,” she answers, which really means be careful and remember you have the bracelet. We speak in code, the two of us. That’s how things get done around here.</p><p>The music fades as I approach the man waiting in the back, and he’s already talking to the security staff, shoving bills into his hand I can’t make out. Alfred’s tall, strong muscles, a black t-shirt with the club name on it clinging to everyone. His arms are crossed in front of him, but he’s smiling and laughing at the man, playing the game.</p><p>“What’s going on here?” I ask knowing it’s my body and therefore my business, especially considering Alfred is my safety net on the other side of this bracelet.</p><p>“I just arranged that we won’t be interrupted until I say time’s up,” the man responds, and Alfred opens the door, lets him step inside.</p><p>I’m hesitant, but Alfred gives me a comforting look. “Hit that button and I’ll interrupt,” he says sternly, pretending not to look my way. “These rich men thinking they can do anything they want. Arrogant assholes.”</p><p>I stifle a laugh, smiling at him thankfully and walking into the backroom. It’s quite cozy—a sectional leather booth pressed against the left wall with a table in front if it, blue lights tucked into the top of the walls, a mirror directly across from the booth, and speakers in all four corners for optimal sound. It’s not soundproof, but it nearly is. In here, everything else fades away.</p><p>The man slides into the booth, pointing a spot diagonal from him where I’m supposed to join. That’s new. Normally they just demand a lap dance right there. At least I can play my own CD track and not listen to the shit they pump out in the main room. I remember the meeting for that and how me and another guy were significantly outnumbered. We both wanted more alternative and everyone else begged for the usual pop.</p><p>The private waitress stops in almost on cue, wearing nothing but practically see-through lingerie and heels higher than I can even imagine wearing. I don’t recognize her, so she must be new to the staff.</p><p>“I’m Electra,” she says sweetly, batting her eyelashes at both of us but more so towards the one responsible for the tip tonight. “What can I get you both to drink tonight?”</p><p>“A bottle of your most expensive scotch and two glasses, sweetheart,” he smiles, and I take notice of the dimples that form, how nice his teeth look. God, he’s so charismatic by doing nothing at all.</p><p>“What if I wanted some bourbon?” I ask, and he looks at me inquisitively. “I saw you drinking some near the stage earlier. Looked good.”</p><p>“You’ll quickly learn I’m a control freak,” he counters, smirking at me and then smiling up at Electra when she sets the glasses down and pours for us. Her hands tremble a little bit, and when she makes eye contact with me, I offer her a small smile and a nod. It’s okay. She’s got this even if one of her first clients probably has enough money to buy and sell the place and everyone inside of it. She smiles back, directing the bottle to him.</p><p>I survey him again. That suit is easily thousands of dollars if not more after adding in the shirt, the pants, the shoes. I doubt he mixes brands. It’s probably all Armani. Hm. Drug dealer. Pimp, maybe? I don’t mind stripping, but I draw the line at prostitution. I know this is far safer.</p><p>“Are you alright?” He asks, snapping me out of it. I hadn’t realized I’d lost touch with the rest of the world.</p><p>“Yes, I’m sorry,” I answer quickly. “What were you saying?” I’m not sure if anything at all, but it’s worth a shot to pretend.</p><p>He smiles subtly. Doesn’t insult me. Noted. “I was telling you what I do for a living.” He sets the glass down on the table, runs his finger over the rim. “I’m a top broker on Wall Street.”</p><p>“That’s—”</p><p>He lifts a hand to silence me. Apparently, he has more to say. Alfred’s words run through my brain. Arrogant assholes. “I know where I am, I know how this must look, and I just wanted to let you know I’m not trying to sell you into human trafficking.”</p><p>I cough on the alcohol I just started to drink, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand because <em>what</em> did he just say? Surely someone who would sell you into human trafficking would tell you they aren’t, right? “Excuse me?”</p><p>“I apologize for being so forward, but some of the dancers I’ve had back here in the past have had that same fear, so I figured why not put yours at ease?”</p><p>Alright. I guess I can’t say anything to that. I inquire, “Then what’s your true purpose of being here? Left your wife for the night? Curious about your sexuality?” I cock my head to the side. “I’m assuming the other dancers had the same concerns, so I figured why not get it out in the open?”</p><p>He laughs, pointing at me with a finger that has a prominent gold “H” ring on it. “You’re bold. I like that.” He takes a sip before he continues, and I watch his every move. “I’m a man into other men, so that rules out having a wife, and I don’t have a husband before you ask that too. As for my sexuality, I’ve figured that out a long time ago. So have you. I can tell.”</p><p>“So what is it you want then? You paid an awful lot to get me back here.”</p><p>The man leans forward, narrowing his eyes at me like he’s trying to figure me out. “You’re the only one I’ve invited back here who’s asked more than the price the club puts on these visits. Why?” I’m taken aback, and I don’t have a reason outside of wanting to test his limits. He notices, backing off slightly. “Relax, relax. I find it interesting. Sexy, even.”</p><p>Okay, him calling me sexy should not get to me the way it just did. He’s a client. Though when has that ever stopped me?</p><p>“You still haven’t told me what you want.”</p><p>“What are the rules?” He leans back in the booth, extending an arm over the back of it and crossing one leg over the other. A small sliver of his socks is revealed. Probably Armani too. “I just want to know what I can expect from back here and paying that sort of money to you.” He punctuates the last two words, clearly familiar that each person here operates with different boundaries.</p><p>I take a sip of my drink and ease into relaxation, the burning coating my throat and my nerves. “You keep your clothes on. I take my clothes off. Well,” I laugh, looking down at myself. “I’m kind of already unclothed, but that’s the premise. I’ll show you whatever you want, do whatever I want, but I don’t cross the line between sensual and sexual. No touching myself.”</p><p>“What happens if that’s what I want?”</p><p>“That part isn’t up to you. If a client and I have chemistry, I’ll make the call about what I do next. Sometimes nothing. Sometimes we end up hooking up after my shift. It’s like paying for a date and getting laid at the end of the night.” I watch him nod like he’s taking in every word I’m saying, and I’m trying to ignore that we seem to have chemistry. “Bottom line is: I’m supposed to make you hard. Just don’t touch yourself, which should go without saying but some men really have no sense of control…” I trail off when I notice the corner of his mouth curls up.</p><p>“Interesting,” he says slowly, takes another sip of his drink. “And what do I call you?”</p><p>“Whatever you want to call me.”</p><p>“I’m not sure your stage name flows off the tongue very well.”</p><p>“Well, there’s any pet name in the book—”</p><p>“What’s your name, Sweet Cheeks?”</p><p>“My name? My real name?” I ask obviously flustered. My identity is private or else I wouldn’t have a stage name. “You’re asking a lot for barely knowing me.”</p><p>He doesn’t even blink when he says. “A grand more and you tell me what your name is, handsome.”</p><p>A grand. A grand? He wants to pay me a grand for something as simple as a name. I could use the money, really, and if he’s stupid enough to offer that money then that reflects only on him. It would pay for my books next semester. “What’s yours?” That’ll throw him off.</p><p>“Harry.” Or not.</p><p>Harry. That would explain the “H” on his ring. Arrogant assholes and their initials on gold plated rings. I pay closer attention, and there’s one with an “S” on it on his other hand. Probably his last name or something brutally cliche. My eyes flick up to meet his, and he’s obviously waiting for mine now.</p><p>I swallow. “Louis.”</p><p>“Louis?” He raises an eyebrow, and I nod. “Sounds pretty.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir.”</p><p>He holds up his hand again. “Call me by my first name while we’re here, Louis. Save the ‘sir’ for later.”</p><p>“What makes you so sure there’ll be a later?” I scoff, sitting back against the booth and tapping my fingers along the side of the rocks glass in front of me. I’m going to need to page Electra to pour me more of this damn drink.</p><p>“I’m never wrong,” he states like it’s fact, nodding towards the stereo system in the corner. “But for now, I would like a dance.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>*drum roll please* basically we meet zayn and liam. exciting stuff!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi please please please leave comments if you're reading the chapter &lt;3 i want to know what everyone likes/hates/ wants to see. </p><p>thanks for reading!! </p><p>(and again this wasn't edited lol sorry if it's rough)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“This fucking door,” I grunt to myself, pressing my shoulder into the front door to my apartment. It’s a newly renovated building, and I see <em>no one else</em> struggle with their fucking doors as much as I do. It’s annoying, it’s absurd, it’s exactly not what I need with a pounding hangover and everything from the waist down on absolute fire.</p><p class="p1">I’m hit with music the moment I get my door open. Loud music. Loud, bass-driven rap music—is that DNA by Kendrick Lamar?—pounding out of the speakers in the living room. Jesus, Zayn, is this really necessary? Our neighbors are probably going to report us <em>again</em>.</p><p class="p1">The back of his head is all I see as I walk in, kicking off my converse and wincing at the ache in my calves. A giggle comes from the living room when the transition comes to the next song, and I peek around the corner to try and see if it’s still Lydia. Or was it Livia? Doesn’t matter. I can’t see shit from this angle anyway.</p><p class="p1">“That’s it, baby,” Zayn says somehow <em>louder</em> than the music, and I really hope whatever is going on is not what I think is going on.</p><p class="p1">My feet carry me to the kitchen before I can worry about that, pulling open our fridge to a couple of peppers, various beer cans, and a package of hot dogs. Our freezer isn’t much better—a frozen pizza, a half-empty ice tray, and a carton of strawberry ice cream clearly marked with a big letter “Z.” Apparently we need to go grocery shopping.</p><p class="p1">The grumble in my stomach tells me I’m going to have to settle for eating something out based on this selection, so I try to find the take-out menus we keep in one of the drawers. I pull open one of them and a shit ton of papers fall out—receipts, our loan agreements, things I don’t recognize. It’s a disaster in here, and I haven’t even looked at the sink. Or the trash.</p><p class="p1">I do and immediately wish I hadn’t. Isn’t it his turn to take care of all of this?</p><p class="p1">A quick glance at the literal chore calendar we made and stuck on the fridge tells me it’s actually my turn. Fuck, I’m not going to have time to do this right now.</p><p class="p1">Maybe I could ask him to deal with this? Though by the sounds of it he’s probably in no mental state. Let me just start by announcing my presence.</p><p class="p1">The living room is right across from the kitchen, and as I approach it I realize there’s neat lines of cocaine on the coffee table, his drivers license threatening to fall off of the edge, and the girl’s head in his lap. His head is tipped back, mouth stuck open, his hands out of my sight. Exactly what I thought, and exactly what I didn’t need to see.</p><p class="p1">“Zayn, I swear to fucking—”</p><p class="p1">“Tomlinson!” He yells with his arms flying straight up in the air. I roll my eyes as he pats the top of the head of the girl who’s buried in his lap. “You mind getting up for a second, sweetheart?”</p><p class="p1">“Sure,” she laughs obnoxiously and high-pitched, sitting up and wiping at her nose with one hand and holding her hair in a ponytail with the other. Okay, maybe this is worse than I thought.</p><p class="p1">“Was she—”</p><p class="p1">“What? Never had someone snort coke off of your dick before, Lou?”</p><p class="p1">“I can’t say I have.”</p><p class="p1">“Definitely try it sometime. That shit is hot as fuck.” I don’t say anything, staring at him until he realizes that he’s still partially naked on the couch. Zayn hurries to shove his pants back on and then turns around to balance on his knees and lean over the end of the couch. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s one in the afternoon. On a Wednesday.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m high as fuck, man, I don’t know what that means.”</p><p class="p1">“I have <em>class</em> at five every <em>Wednesday</em>,” I reply slowly. Zayn’s annoying as hell and forgetful when he’s high on coke. I prefer him on acid and even more so on weed. At least then he doesn’t speak that much.</p><p class="p1">“So?”</p><p class="p1">“So,” I punctuate with a smile, “I need to clean up and review my reading.”</p><p class="p1">“What you need is a hit of this gorgeous white powder,” he winks, pointing his finger at me and then back over his shoulder at the coke on the table. That does sound good, but I shouldn’t. I’m almost guaranteed to be called on today after escaping it on Monday, and I won’t be able to summarize a case with my heart beating out of my chest.</p><p class="p1">“What I need is to clean up and review my reading,” I counter, and then look over in the direction of the blonde chick staring off into space. I would literally pay him to bring home somebody with half a brain. “Who’s this?”</p><p class="p1">The girl keeps staring until Zayn snaps in front of her, and she shakes her head, looking over at me with a nervous smile. Must be paranoid on a coke high. “I’m Gretchen.” She holds her hand out for me to shake, and I take a hard pass considering it’s been on my roommate’s dick.</p><p class="p1">She’s prettier than the last few girls—long red hair hanging down over her shoulders now that it’s not bunched up in her fist, dark blue eyes, freckles spotting her face. Neither the skirt or the shirt she’s wearing leave much to the imagination when she bends over to snort another line off of the coffee table. Maybe I could just take one—</p><p class="p1">No, Louis. Class. Reading.</p><p class="p1">“Okay, well can you and ‘Gretchen’ at least try to keep it down so I can focus? Please?”</p><p class="p1">Zayn nods like it’s not a big deal, even reaches for the remote to the stereo system to turn it down. I know that’ll last all but three minutes, and the moment I walk through my bedroom door Gretchen will be back on her knees and he’ll be back to snorting lines without a care in the world.</p><p class="p1">“Only if you promise to get fucked up with me tonight. We’re hitting the clubs after hours, baby!” He does a little dance in his seat, and Gretchen is absolutely losing it while she twirls her hair with his index finder and pulls at her clothes when she sits back up. “Gretch knows a couple of places.”</p><p class="p1">“They’re not far from here either,” she chimes in. I don’t turn down a party.</p><p class="p1">“Alright, alright,” I surrender, adjusting the bag around my shoulders and starting to head down the hall. Zayn stops me when I’m halfway down, looking me up and down with a devilish smile on his face. “What?”</p><p class="p1">“Was he any good?”</p><p class="p1">Caught. “Oh yeah.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yeah,” he repeats, and I’m not sure if that’s directed towards my words or the way he’s starting to put a hand in Gretchen’s hair to push her back down. Either way that’s my cue to get the fuck up out of here.</p><p class="p1">I close my bedroom door as quickly as possible, settling up against the door for a second to take a deep breath. My room is a disaster—the bed sloppily made, dirty and clean clothes strewn about and pouring out of my closet, my desk overflowing with notes and books from class, aluminum foil balled up in the corners. I really should’ve cleaned before my shift last night.</p><p class="p1">I push myself off the door with my shoulders, sitting cross-legged on the bed as I dump out the money on my bed. It’s neatly separated by bill, wrapped up with rubber bands I stole from the club. I probably shouldn’t travel on the bus back to the apartment with this much loose cash on me, but I haven’t figured out a safer way to do it. I’ll have to ask Gi if she has any tips.</p><p class="p1">If my counting is right—which it’s never, <em>never</em> wrong—I made about ten grand last night. Most of that coming from Harry’s desire for a private dance.</p><p class="p1">And he did get to sleep with me afterward, too. Lucky fucking him.</p><p class="p1">Lucky fucking me.</p><p class="p1">He kept me in the private room until my shift ended and then hung out outside of the back entrance waiting for me to change. Gigi placed a kiss on my cheek and told me to be careful—a usual spiel—and then walked to her car. That left the two of us.</p><p class="p1">Harry took me back to his hotel nearby. Some crazy five-star place with his suite on the very top floor. I walked into a foyer that opened to the whole layout with carved wooden French doors, a grand piano resting on a jutted out portion of the room full of only windows, a seating area in front of it, a sunk-in living room clad with leather and a chandelier, a kitchen, a full dining room. It was like an entire fucking house.</p><p class="p1">And our bodies graced every single inch of it.</p><p class="p1">I barely wanted to leave this afternoon. Not necessarily because of Harry himself—that sex was easily the best I’ve had in a long, <em>long</em> time—but the sheets were so fucking soft compared to mine, the bed so plush, a butler knocking on the door to ask if we wanted the chef to make us breakfast.</p><p class="p1">Yeah, he had a fucking chef, and I got to come home to Zayn Malik half-naked with Gretchen snorting cocaine off of his cock. Lovely.</p><p class="p1">I ran my hand fondly over the cash I know came from Harry, rolling the scenes of last night in my head over and over and over again until my stomach reminded me that I really needed to eat, and the book next to me in bed reminded me that I absolutely needed to review.</p><p class="p1">I hopped off my bed and made my way over to the dresser, sliding open the top drawer and digging under my socks to find the safe. Three envelopes were inside labeled “School,” “Apartment,” and “Mom.” I divide up the cash by a fine-tuned percentage into each envelope and slide the drawer shut.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">“Frederick’s exam is going to kill me,” Liam sighs, tipping his head back dramatically. We’re tucked away in the corner of Starbucks with half-finished coffees, our food wrappers strewn about the table and coated in crumbs.</p><p class="p1">“An understatement,” I say with a sigh, pressing my forehead in the palm of my two hands. “I swear he gets off on insulting us in class.”</p><p class="p1">“What he did to you today wasn’t fair. All you did was mess up the date of a case by one singular year and he acted like you didn't know what you were talking about.”</p><p class="p1">“Every other detail was correct!” I exclaimed, slamming my hands down on the table. “I’m going to fail.”</p><p class="p1">“Me too,” Liam frowns, crumbling up his wrapper and tossing it in the trash a few feet away. “At least I’ll have my basketball career to fall back on when I don’t make it as a lawyer.”</p><p class="p1">“Frederick’s exam does not determine the rest of your career.”</p><p class="p1">“If you say so,” Liam responds but he doesn’t seem convinced. I’m not convinced either, but I have to tell myself that to prevent myself from going absolutely insane. He taps on the table once with his finger, leaning forward with his arms crossed. “How’s your mom?”</p><p class="p1">I swallow, my posture going slack. Not well. She’s stuck in a hospital bed, and the doctors aren’t sure what else to do. The last time I saw her, I barely recognized her. “She’s doing okay.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, that’s good to hear.”</p><p class="p1">Yeah, sure. Something like that. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so I deflect. “How’s Natalie?”</p><p class="p1">“Anxious for me to propose,” he breathes out, suddenly running a hand through his hair and fidgeting with the buttons on his coat. “She’s dropping hints every time we’re together.”</p><p class="p1">“How long has it been now?”</p><p class="p1">“Four years. I told her I want to wait until I’m done with law school. I can’t plan a wedding right now.”</p><p class="p1">“No one said you have to plan a wedding.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, she’ll plan a wedding,” he laughs nervously, pulling his phone out of his coat pocket. He shoves it into my hand after a moment, telling me to scroll through their text message thread.</p><p class="p1">“Jesus.” Picture after picture appears of engagement rings, wedding venues, the ring emoji standing on its own. “Good luck, man. I have no words of advice.”</p><p class="p1">My phone goes off right on the table as I hand Liam’s phone back to him. His distraction with Natalie lets me view it in peace, and I don’t recognize the number at first glance.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>When do you work next? </em>
</p><p class="p1">I type back a fast <em>who’s asking</em>? that’s met by a <em>You don’t remember you gave me your number last night? It’s H. </em>Of course it is. I can almost hear his smug voice through the phone.</p><p class="p1">I really don’t remember giving him my number last night, but I wasn't exactly sober. We finished the entire bottle at work and had another one back at his hotel room. He must be staying in the area for a while if he’s wondering when I’m working next.</p><p class="p1">Liam’s still preoccupied with his marriage hungry girlfriend, so I have no shame in keeping up this conversation.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <strong>i don’t make a habit of telling strangers my work schedule </strong>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Strangers? </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I don’t think of myself as much of a stranger </em>
  <em>given what I did to you last night. </em>
</p><p class="p1">I almost choke on the sip of coffee I’m taking which blows my cover, and Liam looks up from his phone, eyes darting from my phone and then back up to me. His eyes narrow.</p><p class="p1">“Who are you talking to?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s no one.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re blushing.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s no one!”</p><p class="p1">“Alright, whatever,” Liam says, but he’s smirking at me over his coffee cup, nudging me with his foot under the table.</p><p class="p1">I kick him back harder, making him flinch and reach for his shin. He’s laughing as he insults me for that, and I try to keep on a serious face while I shove my phone and Harry’s texts back into my pocket. Out of sight, out of mind.</p><p class="p1">“You want to go out with Zayn and I tonight?”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t deflect, asshole.”</p><p class="p1">I repeat, “Do you want to go out with Zayn and I tonight?” and ignore his obnoxious desire to know what's happening in my sexual and romantic life.</p><p class="p1">“Let me just text Natalie and ask her if she wants to.”</p><p class="p1">“She’ll probably send you back a wedding ring emoji. Make you marry her first." </p><p class="p1">“Fuck off, Tomlinson,” he mutters but a small smile tugs at his lips while his fingers move on his keyboard. I take a final sip of my coffee and watch him, trying not to think about the words burning in my pocket.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>louis dances, harry's there, we get to meet my second favorite pairing. all the goods.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>when i said i would update once a week i meant i would update three times in less than 24 hours just because the ideas are flowing</p><p>cut the cameras </p><p>(and thanks for reading xo)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Out of all of the people I’ve hooked up with after a shift, only a handful of them came back for a second round. It’s not usual. Normally they get what they want, and I get what I want, and we part ways there. Harry, of course, is not one of the men content with what they get. I have a feeling he always just wants more.</p><p class="p1">I open my eyes to the ceiling, my thighs bracketing his hips. A rendition of I Wanna Be Yours by the Arctic Monkeys is playing off of my soundtrack, and we didn’t get to experience this song the last time he was here. Or more like he didn’t get to experience this song the last time he was here.</p><p class="p1">I move my hips slow and steady down on him, and the friction of my almost naked body against the fabric of the pants of his suit is driving my performance. It’s a different feeling to know that not even three days ago I was riding him in the master suite, my body on display for all of New York City’s nightlife to see with the size of those windows.</p><p class="p1">I look down at him during the final moments of the song, running my hands down his chest. He smirks up at me, running a hand down my side and tucking another bill into the lingerie I’m wearing tonight. He doesn’t owe me anything else given he already paid another six grand to be back here tonight, but I won’t complain. I’ll go home tonight and count the cash again and revel in it.</p><p class="p1">“You want another drink?” He asks me during the song change, lips ghosting over my ear and sending electricity up my spine.</p><p class="p1">“I could go for another shot, yeah,” I say breathlessly, massaging gently at my hips after all of that movement. “Do you want another dance?”</p><p class="p1">“How much longer until your shift is over?”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll have to tell me what time it is.” I press a button behind me that indicates we’ll need a server in here, and the woman who walked in the first time is not the woman walking in this time. She’s replaced with a tall, lean, and tan man wearing combat boots and jean shorts, glitter dancing over his skin. I recognize him from a few meetings. Lucas, I think? Going by—</p><p class="p1">“Your other server went home for the night, boys,” he says with a flash of a perfect white smile. “I’m Diesel.”</p><p class="p1">My eyes scan over his body just as he does to me, the tension rising ever so slightly in the room. Hello, Diesel. Are we going home together after your shift tonight?</p><p class="p1">“We’ll take another round,” Harry’s voice cuts through the tension, but my eyes are fixed on him.</p><p class="p1">Diesel grabs the bottle on the table along with the two empty glasses, nodding at Harry politely. “Be right out with that, sir.” His eyes are back on mine as he walks away, winking before disappearing into the back.</p><p class="p1">“I think I will take another dance,” Harry announces, resting an arm on the back of the booth and gesturing over to his lap. “Now if you don’t mind.”</p><p class="p1">I don’t mind, and I slide out of the booth to change the song. Warm by The Neighbourhood is next, a soft and sensual sound filling the room. I sulk my way over to him, careful with all of my movements, running through the choreography that I can do in my sleep until I’m at the edge of my side of the booth on my hands and knees. The leather is sweaty underneath of me, but I ignore it, arching my back as I move towards him like a fucking animal on the prowl. He doesn’t expect the move from his body language, but he’s definitely inviting it.</p><p class="p1">My hand finds his thigh when I reach him, dancing my fingers up and over his belt line until I’m smoothing up his tie, hooking my legs over his lap once more. Diesel walks by with a bottle when I’m getting ready to turn around and draw the attention to my ass, but Harry stops my motions, wrapping a hand around my lower back possessively.</p><p class="p1">“What are you doing?” I push him back so I can look at him, listening to both the music and Diesel setting everything down on the table.</p><p class="p1">“I like you like this,” Harry says loud enough for both of us to hear, and his hands are edging down towards my ass. My reflexes are fast, grabbing on to his wrist to stop him from moving anywhere else.</p><p class="p1">“<em>What </em>are you doing?” I repeat with more irritation in my voice. It doesn’t matter what he’s done to me or at what point, the club rules—and my rules—are the rules. And touching me like this is too intimate even for the setting and especially for my professional boundaries.</p><p class="p1">“You seemed to like that back at my place,” he answers like nothing is wrong here, “when you were begging me for more.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you okay?” Diesel cuts in behind us, audibly pouring a drink for Harry and me.</p><p class="p1">I don’t even have a chance to take my eyes off of Harry before he responds for me, “He’s fine.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s not your question to answer,” I shoot back, and move his hands off of me. To Diesel, I say, “I’m fine. We’re just finishing up here.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” he nods, looking at Harry sternly before walking out of the room again.</p><p class="p1">I reach for my drink, nearly downing all of it in one sip before putting the glass back down on the table with a notable thump. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”</p><p class="p1">“Who am I jealous of?” Harry nearly laughs, sipping his drink slowly and with an obvious poise he’s doing his best to accentuate. Fucking hell it’s like this is a mating ritual and he’s trying to prove he has the bigger feathers.</p><p class="p1">“I’m pretty accustomed to what friendly competition for my attention looks like working in a place like this. Let’s not play dumb.”</p><p class="p1">He takes a longer sip without taking his eyes off of me, reaching forward to refill his glass. “I think I want to take you back to my hotel room tonight.”</p><p class="p1">“I think that I’m not in the mood for that tonight, thanks,” I answer quickly.</p><p class="p1">“What? You’d rather go home with pretty boy tonight?”</p><p class="p1">“The answer to that question is not any of your business, Harry.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s my business if I’m back here and paying you that kind of cash.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s not your business period.” Well. This night really went up in a ball of flames. “You don’t own me. You’re paying me to strip. I’m not a fucking escort. I don’t owe you anything.” Harry opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him by holding up a hand. “The session is over. Leave or I’ll have Alfred come in here and remove you.”</p><p class="p1">He pauses, still looking like he wants to say something, but I’m stern with my facial expression, body stiff as a board. I hold out a hand towards the door, and he sighs heavily, pushing himself out of the booth and grabbing his coat from the rack. I watch him the entire way to the door and through the window while he walks down the hall.</p><p class="p1">Arrogant assholes.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">“Who the fuck does he think he is?” I exclaim, wiping at my eyeliner in the large mirror in front of me. The other girls around me are settled into a buzz of gossip, helping each other out of uniforms for those leaving and into uniforms for those staying. There’s a separate dressing room for the men if we want it, but the girls like my company so I tend to dress and undress in here.</p><p class="p1">Not like I want them anyway. No harm, no foul.</p><p class="p1">“He sounds like a piece of work,” Gigi says half-distracted with the amount of glitter she’s trying to scrub off of her body. To the rest of the room, she asks, “Who’s idea was it to have glitter cannons go off on stage tonight? I’m going to have this shit on me for the rest of the week.”</p><p class="p1">“Me too,” another dancer agrees, prompting a bunch of others to say it wasn’t them.</p><p class="p1">The door at the back of the room swings open with a few more girls coming in for their shifts tonight. One of which is Electra, and one of which doesn’t work here at all.</p><p class="p1">“There are my two best friends,” the girl who doesn’t work here says happily, flashing us a smile and practically running over to see us. She bends over to kiss me on the cheek, and then Gigi on the lips, resting her head on her shoulder. “You look gorgeous, baby.”</p><p class="p1">“I look like I just got shot by a unicorn.”</p><p class="p1">“She’s being dramatic about the glitter,” I say with a roll of my eyes, throwing away the tissue in the wastebasket underneath the counter. “How was work for you today, Kendall?”</p><p class="p1">“Why do you say it like that?” She looks over at me nervously in the mirror and then holds both of Gi’s shoulders in her hand when she looks at her. “Did something happen outside of the great glitter war of Saturday night?”</p><p class="p1">“Lou’s got one hell of a client,” Gigi answers, tapping on one of Kendall’s hands so she can get closer to the mirror to wipe off her lipstick. “We’re calling him Mr. Gold Rings.”</p><p class="p1">“Like actual gold rings?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yeah,” I nod. “Actual gold rings. He paid me six thousand dollars for a private dance on Tuesday and then another six thousand for a dance tonight.”</p><p class="p1">“You made <em>twelve thousand dollars</em> off of this guy?”</p><p class="p1">“Twelve thousand.”</p><p class="p1">“Who made twelve thousand dollars?” Another girl Sabrina asks from a few chairs away. I raise my hand and brace for the rapid-fire questions of how I did that. “Jesus, Lou, I think I need to start stuffing my panties so it looks like I have a penis if you’re making that kind of cash.”</p><p class="p1">“Louis always attracts the ridiculously rich ones,” Gigi says with an eye roll.</p><p class="p1">“Aw, baby,” Kendall coos sympathetically. “You know I’ll be rich one day and can be your sugar mama.”</p><p class="p1">I laugh at that, standing up to walk over to my cubby with my bag in it. I have jeans and a t-shirt to change into stuffed in here, a textbook in case I have a break to study, a bag within the bag to put my cash in.</p><p class="p1">“Was it that guy I served a few days ago?” A voice asks, and I turn towards it to realize it’s Electra. She looks shy, nervous that she even asked the question in the first place while she’s carefully sliding red lipstick over her lips in the mirror.</p><p class="p1">“That’s him, girl.”</p><p class="p1">“He seemed arrogant.”</p><p class="p1">“Uh, yeah.”</p><p class="p1">Gigi stands up to walk over near me too, Kendall closely following and jumping up to sit on the top of the cubbies. “He still can’t be that bad, Lou, if you went home with him that night.”</p><p class="p1">“Look—”</p><p class="p1">“You didn’t mention that part of the story!” Kendall knocks into my shoulder, and I almost lose my balance stepping into my jeans.</p><p class="p1">“It was a moment of weakness! It won’t ever happen again after he wanted to act like he owned me when Diesel walked in.”</p><p class="p1">“Diesel? Like Lucas?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, Lucas,” I shrug because it’s inconsequential.</p><p class="p1">“You two had insane sexual tension,” Gigi practically laughs, handing her work outfit to Kendall to hold. “He’s the one I told you Lou was bound to end up in the back of the car and getting fined with public nudity with, Ken.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, <em>that </em>guy.”</p><p class="p1">“So we were eye-fucking each other when he walked in. That doesn’t matter. What matters is him acting like he had a right to me after sleeping with him for one night.”</p><p class="p1">“Lou’s got that magic magic if he’s making men jealous of other men after just one night,” Kendall says with a grin as she zips up Gigi’s dress.</p><p class="p1">“Where you headed looking like that?” I tease, looking her over. The dress she’s wearing is tight and black, accentuating her hips and her long legs. She’s balanced with one hand against the cubbies while she’s pulling on high heels, and I take the time to notice Kendall’s outfit as well—a red sparkly mini dress with thin straps, crisp white tennis shoes on her feet.</p><p class="p1">“Kendall has a work event tonight.”</p><p class="p1">“I might get a promotion,” she announces in a sing-song voice, flicking her hair back off of her shoulders. She works at a fashion company as a designer for a small amount of clients, but she’s in the running for a bigger clientele base. As she should, honestly. I’ve been to multiple shows of hers over the last year and I’ve been blown away by every one of her designs.</p><p class="p1">“It’s what she deserves,” Gigi adds happily, settling between her legs to kiss her sweetly. It makes my heart warm, desire for something like that settling in my chest.</p><p class="p1">“What are <em>you</em> doing tonight, heartbreaker?” Kendall asks me, poking into my lower back with her shoe. I smooth back my hair when I come back up from tying my shoe, folding my arms and ankles in front of me to lean back against the cubbies and watch the rest of the room.</p><p class="p1">“I’m going out with Zayn and Gretchen.” When they give me a confused look, I add, “Some girl he’s seeing now. I met her a few days ago when she was deep throating him in our living room.”</p><p class="p1">“Gross.” Kendall makes a disgusted face, pretending to gag.</p><p class="p1">“What happened to Lydia?” So it was Lydia. Thanks, Gi.</p><p class="p1">“No idea. You know how it is.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, if you’re still around later, let us know. Ken’s party is dry, and I don’t want to go sober on a Saturday night.”</p><p class="p1">“Your party is dry?” I ask with a raise of my eyebrows. What kind of fashion party is dry? Aren’t there supposed to be models with bleeding noses snorting cocaine in the bathroom or sliding over each other on velvet couches while they drink champagne and take turns dropping ecstasy on their tongues?</p><p class="p1">“It’s not that kind of party tonight,” Kendall answers with a hand on my shoulder as she hops down. She presses another quick kiss to my cheek. “Try not to mix drugs tonight. I’d like to tell you the hopefully good news while you’re conscious.”</p><p class="p1">“No promises. Good luck tonight.”</p><p class="p1">She thanks me, pulling on Gigi’s wrist as she walks past, barely managing to kiss me on the cheek herself. I laugh at her being practically tugged through the door, hearing Gi’s high heels click down the concrete steps as the back door shuts.</p><p class="p1">Alright, alright, alright. Where’s the coke at?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>also for people waiting for the spice...</p><p>it's coming. i promise.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>well... louis ends up at harry's hotel and you can guess what happens next</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>finally the moment we've been waiting for!</p><p>and thank you so much for almost 200 reads already!! that makes me so happy considering this is the first long-form fic I've ever posted. i'm very excited to write this and watch it unfold with you all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I’m in a taxi. I’m in a fucking taxi licking my index finger and shoving it into a totally not suspicious bag of the white powder goddess I call cocaine.</p><p class="p1">The driver looks back at me like I’ve gone crazy, and honestly? I probably have. I did a couple of lines back at a party with Zayn and Gretchen—and a few other girls I didn’t recognize that definitely knew them both—and while that high was amazing, this one needs to last.</p><p class="p1">So I’m shoving my finger in my mouth, coating my gums, and wiping it off on my jeans on my way to Harry’s fucking hotel room.</p><p class="p1">God, I better not regret this.</p><p class="p1">I’m seeing double by the time the taxi driver pulls up onto the curb, looking back at me and asking if I’m okay. I think that’s what he asked at least. It kind of sounds like he’s talking directly into a fishbowl the way the echo hits my ears. I mutter something that sounds like a claim to be fine and then I promptly fumble for the door handle.</p><p class="p1">The cool air of a New York City early fall hits me fast, makes me grip at my arms for a second while I try to coordinate up the stairs. It’s late, and no one else is really around inside of the lobby besides the woman behind the desk who looks really uninterested at my entrance. Shouldn’t they care more about who comes in here considering all of the money involved?</p><p class="p1">Money. What the fuck is Harry’s hotel room number? Think, Louis, I swear to god. You can’t mess this up. What was it, what was it? Something with a 2 in front of it? With a—</p><p class="p1">“Excuse me, miss?”</p><p class="p1">The woman perks up behind the counter like she’s taken a shot of caffeine.</p><p class="p1">“May I help you, sir?”</p><p class="p1">Her body briefly blurs into two bodies, and I blink hard once just to get them back into focus. Why didn’t I wait to take the next hit until after I was already in the damn elevator?</p><p class="p1">“How many penthouse suites do you have available tonight?”</p><p class="p1">“The penthouse suite is currently taken, sir,” she smiles politely. Didn’t even have to check to know that. Probably means there’s only one of them here.</p><p class="p1">“That’s a shame. I was really looking forward to renting one tonight. I take it the view is pretty popular?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s an amazing view, sir,” she nods, and her tucking her hair behind her hair tells me she thinks I’m flirting. Red alert, Louis, get out of here.</p><p class="p1">“How high up is that? Twenty floors? Twenty-five?”</p><p class="p1">“Twenty three actually, sir.” It must be fucking annoying to keep up with these pleasantries during conversation. I think I would jump out of the window.</p><p class="p1">“Wow. Impressive.”</p><p class="p1">She nods, looking at me doe-eyed and like she wants me to ask her for a drink. Instead, I get a surge of energy through my veins that sends me tapping on the counter obnoxiously and disappearing without so much as a thanks.</p><p class="p1">Somehow she doesn’t question me going in the opposite way I came in, but I won’t worry about it. I’ll just press the elevator button a couple of hundred times until it goes up to the twenty-third floor where my prize is.</p><p class="p1">Fuck him. But actually.</p><p class="p1">I go to hit the button, but it’s not working, and my coke high brain realizes that I need a fucking hotel key to actually move this elevator. God damn it.</p><p class="p1">But the elevator swings open like some sort of saving grace—I think the angels actually sing—and in comes housekeeping. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me I picked the cleaning elevator, and I could not have been so lucky.</p><p class="p1">“Are you going up, sir?” The kind old woman asks me, and I feel like covering her in thankful, celebratory kisses. One hundred times yes.</p><p class="p1">“I’m going up,” I answer. “Just couldn’t seem to find my key.”</p><p class="p1">“Not a problem, sir.” She smiles sweetly, allowing me to press the button for the highest floor. “That’s a nice room, sir, beautiful view.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yes,” I agree, thinking of nothing but Harry, “it’s a beautiful, beautiful view.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">“How did you get up here?”</p><p class="p1">“Should you be concerned about that?” I ask, and I’ll be honest with myself and admit I’m high out of my fucking mind and probably a bit delusional.</p><p class="p1">“Are you high, Louis?”</p><p class="p1">“No.”</p><p class="p1">“Your pupils are insanely—“</p><p class="p1">“I said I’m not high.” A lull in the conversation reveals laughter coming from a room off to the side, and both of us turn our heads to look at where it’s coming from. “Do you have people here?”</p><p class="p1">“Look, I just—“</p><p class="p1">“When are you coming back to bed?” A very, very naked guy announces when he tears open the door, wobbly on his feet and a whole bottle of something I can’t make out in his hands. “We’re waiting for you to finish what we started."</p><p class="p1">We’re? Okay, so clearly I made an ass out of myself and am just going to go.</p><p class="p1">“Who’s this, Harry?” The man asks, pointing the bottle at me. “Does he want to join in too?”</p><p class="p1">“Jesus,” Harry mutters under his breath, pointing at the door. “All of you get out and go home.”</p><p class="p1">“What? But I—“</p><p class="p1">“That’s not a question, Edward, that’s a demand. Get your fucking clothes on and go. I’ll call you a cab. You’re all insanely drunk.”</p><p class="p1">“Fuck you, man,” Edward (apparently) says, slamming the door shut.</p><p class="p1">Harry smiles at me like nothing happened, offering me a drink while he’s dialing a number on his phone. Is there really more than one man inside of that room right now? And is he really just about to kick them out because I got here?</p><p class="p1">I start laughing. Hysterically.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry,” I blurt out when Harry looks over at me. “It’s just—there’s like three men walking out of a bedroom in this fancy-ass penthouse and you’re just calling a cab for them I’m—I’m sorry.”</p><p class="p1">Harry waves me off, and I’m tempted to reach into my pocket and grab the rest of the coke I have to finish me for the night, but I kind of at least want to see what happens.</p><p class="p1">Correction.</p><p class="p1">I want to remember what happens.</p><p class="p1">“Why don’t you just go into the master and I’ll meet you up there, okay? There’s a bathroom if you need to wash up.” Harry nods towards the stairs, unable to speak further as he’s cut off by the voice on the other end of the phone.</p><p class="p1">If the man wants me to go upstairs to the penthouse master, I definitely will. I just have to coordinate my way up these stairs which come to think of it I definitely did not climb the first time I was here. Guess we didn’t grace <em>every</em> room then.</p><p class="p1">All I see is the bed in the center when I walk in, and I gravitate towards it, collapsing face-first onto the mattress and breathing in the crisp smell of expensive hotel sheets. I should really do the rest of the coke in my pocket.</p><p class="p1">Fuck. No, I shouldn’t.</p><p class="p1">The door opens and closes behind me, and great I’ve lost all sense of time because that felt like about thirty seconds in between me opening the door and me inhaling the linen.</p><p class="p1">“You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”</p><p class="p1">I shift so I can see Harry, and he’s standing there against the door, arms crossed in front of him, cocking an eyebrow, smirking and waiting. He knows what I’m doing here.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to tell you shit. Let me just show you instead.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">This is fucking ecstasy. Like actual fucking ecstasy.</p><p class="p1">Harry tips my head back with his chin, and I open my mouth, feeling the cool splash of chilled champagne hit my tongue and then the back of my throat. I sign at the sensation, moan at the feeling of his tongue on my throat as he licks away the liquid that didn’t make it to my mouth.</p><p class="p1">I wrap my hands around the hair on the back of his head, stuffing my fists with the short brown strands while he bites at the skin of my neck.</p><p class="p1">If I had sense I would tell him not to leave a mark, but I have none. Left that outside of the club before I got into the taxi and brought myself here.</p><p class="p1">I momentarily forget he’s inside of me until he shifts, pushing inside, and we had the angle so right before we stopped for a drink (or pour, rather) that he brushes right against my prostate.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck, that feels good,” I moan out, rolling my hips to get more of the feeling. His tongue finds my collar bone, sloppy kisses placed there and all the way down to my nipple.</p><p class="p1">“A lot better than that guy you work with?” He asks, clearly grinning against my skin as he takes the bud in between his teeth and tugs.</p><p class="p1">“Knew you were jealous,” I pant out, speeding up my thrusts.</p><p class="p1">“Not jealous.”</p><p class="p1">“Whatever you say, Harry.”</p><p class="p1">He pulls away from my chest abruptly, holding on to my hips to stop me from moving and flipping us over in one motion. I try to adjust, but he pins my hands to my sides, looking from my lips to my eyes.</p><p class="p1">“Do I need to remind you of the rules, Louis?”</p><p class="p1">Right. I can’t call him by his first name in the bedroom. Forgot about that one. “No,” I manage, licking my lips and thinking that’ll snare him for a kiss.</p><p class="p1">Spoiler: it doesn’t.”</p><p class="p1">“No what?”</p><p class="p1">“No, sir,” I swallow, feeling his grip tighten on my wrists as he presses me farther into the bed. He isn’t even moving inside of me, and it’s fucking torture. “Fuck me. Please?”</p><p class="p1">“Begging for it already?” He teases, arching a brow. Harry lets go of one of my wrists to slide a finger over my cock, running teasing circles around the head. “How hard do you want it?”</p><p class="p1">“As hard as you want to give it to me, sir.”</p><p class="p1">His hand grips my chin then, holding me in place so I can’t break eye contact. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you, Louis. I want to know I’m the one making you feel this good.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” I nod rapidly, bearing down on his cock and trying to arch up for friction. His hands move from my wrists to my hips, pinning me right back down.</p><p class="p1">“You stay put or else I’ll have to tie you up.” I groan at his words, flinging my head to the side and trying to fight against his touch. I’m enjoying the power assertion way too much right now. “Oh, you would like that, huh?”</p><p class="p1">“Please just move,” I answer impatiently and greedily.</p><p class="p1">He moves my head back to center, and I watch him swallow, his chest rise and fall. I know underneath this front is just a man wanting to get off as badly as I do right now, but I can’t let on to that one quite yet.</p><p class="p1">“Eyes on me,” he says sternly, waiting for my acknowledgment before he starts a slow build of thrusts that are so forceful they almost shoot me up the bed.</p><p class="p1">I cling onto the sheets underneath me, my eyes partially closing but not daring to move off of his. He’s matching my facial expressions, mocking me almost, running his hands all over my body before propping them up next to my head.</p><p class="p1">“More,” I swallow, going to wrap my legs around his waist and push him in deeper. “Give me more. I can take it.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t remember you being so greedy the first time I fucked you,” he breathes out hot against my neck and ear, leaning forward to bite down on a mark that was already there.</p><p class="p1">I arch up into his stomach, and he shoves back down as fast as I started. I need some kind of friction or else I’m going to go fucking insane.</p><p class="p1">“I need to—Please?”</p><p class="p1">“Touch yourself, baby.” Harry nods against me, changing the angle and picking up his pace. Baby. Something about hearing his voice say that settles deep in my chest.</p><p class="p1">I wrap a hand around myself and nearly lose it right there—a combination of the cocaine and Harry’s skills. Speaking of, my pants are in reach. I could grab the rest of mine, rub it along both of our gums. Or I could try and test out Zayn’s hypothesis on Harry and see if it’s any good.</p><p class="p1">He slams in hard, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. My hands find his back, blunt nails digging into the skin as I feel each of his muscles move underneath my fingertips. Harry’s skin is slick, and I can feel mine is too, and when I kiss the nearest patch of skin all I taste is the saltiness of sweat.</p><p class="p1">Oh yeah. Does he even do drugs? He has to. A guy like him with money like that and a hotel like this and three men in a bedroom at any given moment apparently has to.</p><p class="p1">“This would be so fucking good high,” I say lowly in his ear, whining against my will as I try to coordinate jerking myself off to his thrusts. My cock slides into my hand and over his abdomen at every thrust, and I’m leaking crazy amounts into my palm.</p><p class="p1">“What did you take tonight?”</p><p class="p1">I smile against his skin, throwing my head back and letting his tongue smooth across the base of my neck. “I told you I'm not high.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re a bad liar,” he shoots back quickly, halting his movements inside of me and making me groan. I stop touching myself at the same time, but he shakes his head. “Did I tell you to stop that?” I shake my head, keep going. “Do you have more?”</p><p class="p1">“In my jean pocket,” I manage, slowing down so I don’t come right now, “there’s some coke left. Not much but enough.”</p><p class="p1">Harry pulls out fast, leaving me clenching around nothing The burn starts to settle in, and I watch him crawl around for my jeans, shoving a hand inside of the right pocket and pulling out a small bag with a little left inside. He looks back at me while he’s holding up, licking his lips with a mischievous and dark look on his face.</p><p class="p1">“On all fours. Arch your back.”</p><p class="p1">I do so quickly, burying my head in the sheets while I prop myself just enough my ass is in plan view and I can still keep a hand moving on myself.</p><p class="p1">I don’t know what he has planned until I hear the bag open and then feel the powder sprinkled over the dimples of my lower back. He’s about to snort coke off of me, and Zayn might be on to something because the idea is so fucking hot I’m stifling moans with the pillow underneath me.</p><p class="p1">“Can I—“ I try to remember the rules from last time, swallowing audibly. “Fuck, can I—“ Words, Lou, fucking christ. I feel the bed indent a little behind me, Harry’s stubble pressing against the skin there, and then I hear him inhale as the feeling disappears from left to right. “Holy shit, can I come?”</p><p class="p1">He snorts once, announcing a happy “woo!” to the room, and yeah, I fucking know it. That stash was good as hell. “Go ahead, baby.”</p><p class="p1">Baby again. I come undone, my body jerking into my fist, and I’m so sensitive because it’s been hard to keep myself in check all night. It drips down into my fist, some of it hitting my abs in hot splashes as I try not to fuck up the sheets. Not that it would matter, but I have a little more common courtesy.</p><p class="p1">Harry grips me by my hips to pull me back against him, tugging at my shoulder until we’re pressed back to chest. I can feel he’s jerking himself off fast behind me, one hand dipping into the plastic bag and then settling on my throat.</p><p class="p1">“Open up,” he says smoothly, and I think I would do just about anything for that voice. I part my lips and he brings a finger up, repeating the exact motions I did in the taxi earlier to myself. I moan around his finger, hearing his breathing stutter as he starts to come himself. Fuck it’s so much hotter when he does it.</p><p class="p1">The stickiness cooling on my stomach is now paired up with his come hitting my back and my ass as he bites down against my shoulder in a harsh grunt. My head is pounding, the crash from the hits earlier this evening starting to settle in, but I know if I just wait it out it’ll be replaced by a fresh high.</p><p class="p1">I try to catch my breath as I'm still held against him, my head rolling back onto his shoulder as I look up at the ceiling. "That was..." </p><p class="p1">"Should've told me that's what you were taking a lot earlier," he says, also trying to stop his labored breathing. "Would've fingered you with it. Coke numbs the nerve endings." </p><p class="p1">Fuck. </p><p class="p1">My cock expresses interest in getting hard again, but I stop myself, clearly way too sensitive to do much of anything right now. </p><p class="p1">Eventually, Harry separates from me, sliding off of the bed and announcing that he's going to take a shower if I'd be interested in joining him. My high starts to settle in, and I'm impressed by how he's handling his as he walks in a straight line, talks like he's cognizant. Though I guess he hasn't done five lines tonight and drank enough to get himself and the next two people trashed. </p><p class="p1">My blurred vision watches him slip into the bathroom connected to the master, and my limbs are way too heavy to move. A phone with my ringtone starts going off somewhere in this room, and with little brain power I have left right now, I know that's probably Kendall or Gigi with some sort of news and asking me where the fuck I am. </p><p class="p1">I'm probably going to regret this. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>louis and harry have a conversation... and maybe they'll have another one</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what's up, what's up!! </p><p>the goods are coming in the next chapter so look out for that </p><p>and thanks again for reading my non-edited writing. you all rock &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“I swear I’m never getting high again,” I announce to the room, my forehead rolling back and forth along the back of my arms folded on the dining room table. My head is pounding. Like next level pounding with stars behind my eyelids and an ache in my teeth.</p><p class="p1">Gigi scoffs from the kitchen because she knows I’m lying. I know I’m lying too. “Do you guys not have any food?”</p><p class="p1">“I haven’t had time to go shopping.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, right. You’re too busy,” she pops her head around the corner, “making dumbass decisions.”</p><p class="p1">I flick her off with the little strength I can muster right now, listening to her disappear back into the kitchen and fumble around in my cabinets.</p><p class="p1">Kendall appears from down the hallway, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Do you have a clean towel?”</p><p class="p1">“Probably not.”</p><p class="p1">“Jeez, Lou, you’re lacking all kinds of things today.” Gigi walks into the dining room carrying a cup of water, sitting down across from and sliding the glass across the table. “Food, towels, common sense.”</p><p class="p1">“What if we stopped talking about it?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m just trying to understand it,” she answers, slouching back in her chair. She and Kendall are handling the aftermath of last night way better than me. The worst of it passed for them this morning and now they’re here and dressed like nothing happened. “Drink your water.”</p><p class="p1">“Is that an order?” I laugh, sharing a look with Kendall who’s trying to contain a snicker by biting at her nails. My face falls when I look at Gigi who’s staring at me like she’s going to come across this table if I don’t stop being a smart ass.</p><p class="p1">“What were you thinking, Louis Tomlinson? You could’ve been hurt or fucking murdered or—“</p><p class="p1">“Murdered?” My eyebrows raise and somehow the small movement makes my head pound even more. “You act like I haven’t navigated around New York City under much worse conditions. Do I have to remind you of the time that you two got me so fucked on vodka and acid and then <em>left </em>the bar at three in the morning with all of my things? I managed to get home just fine then and I didn’t even have my keys.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you talking about that night in August?” Zayn’s voice says down the hallway, the sound of a closing door following soon after.</p><p class="p1">“Oh god,” Gigi groans and presses her fingers to her temple. Kendall looks at me with amusement because we know whenever Gi and Zayn are in the same room it’ll be an interesting time.</p><p class="p1">Zayn walks in with his hair stuck up in a couple of different directions, and he’s shirtless with sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. They have a couple of stains on them and holes near the ankle. He’s probably had them forever.</p><p class="p1">He perks up when he sees Gigi, lifting an arm to rest against the wall as he tries to look flirtatious. “Why <em>hello</em>.”</p><p class="p1">Gi’s patience is already low given my situation, so I’m not at all surprised when all she offers is a middle finger and a stern pointing to Kendall. “Girlfriend. I’m gay.”</p><p class="p1">“I could change that.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re disgusting.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re beautiful.”</p><p class="p1">“Aren’t you seeing someone?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know if seeing someone is the right word for it, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a little threesome action.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh lord,” Gigi rolls her eyes, picking up a magazine resting on the table to throw at him. “Get out of here. Malik.”</p><p class="p1">Zayn shies away from the impact, throwing his hands up after the magazine falls to the floor and disappears back into the kitchen. I look between Kendall and Gigi, trying to stifle my laughter by drinking the water she put in front of me. Gigi looks at us both, a small smile threatening to break her serious composure.</p><p class="p1">“He’s so in love with you,” I say, remembering all of the times I would catch him stalking her on social media or lurking in the area when I brought her over to hang out.</p><p class="p1">“He’s so delusional,” she corrects and then rolls up another magazine—why is Zayn buying so many subscriptions?—to point at me. I flinch at how aggressive she is, and she nods like that was the proper response. “Yeah, you’re next, Tomlinson. Don’t think you’re any less delusional.”</p><p class="p1">“Good sex is good sex,” Kendall blurts out suddenly, and she’s transitioned from biting at her nails to picking off the nail polish there. Gigi swings her head around to cast her a cold glance. “What? I’m just saying that I’ve definitely slept with girls I shouldn’t have, and I’m sure you have, too.”</p><p class="p1">"And he was staying at a hotel," I add to my own defense, "which means he's probably gone by now."</p><p class="p1">Gi stares for another moment like she can’t believe Kendall could actually be slightly disagreeing with her on this. “Fuck both of you,” she announces, dropping the magazine and standing up to dramatically push the chair back in. “I’m going to change for practice, and I suggest you do the same, Lou.”</p><p class="p1">I nod at her with a fake smile, waiting until the door closes to my bedroom to make a cat claw gesture to Kendall who almost completely loses it.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">Gigi’s standing by in high heels and work out shorts as she watches me try to perfect this routine. My hands are sweaty and almost slipping off of the pole, but I try to keep focused. The last thing I need is to crash down onto the floor right now.</p><p class="p1">Which is exactly what I do.</p><p class="p1">“Son of a bitch,” I groan when I hit the stage with a loud thud, wiping at my forehead with the back of my hand. “I can’t get the turn right.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s okay. Try again.”</p><p class="p1">I don’t want to, but she doesn’t let me quit. She knows what’s good for me and what will tear me apart in the end way before I do. Apparently, this dance is good for me.</p><p class="p1">“Should I—“</p><p class="p1">“Try to move your hand up a little bit to support your body.” I do that, inching towards the move that I just fucked up. “Don’t do it so quickly, either. It’s not a race.”</p><p class="p1">I slow down, swallowing hard and breathing heavily as I approach the turn. My hand moves a little higher, my legs swinging out, and I brace for the impact that never comes because I actually made it. Thank god.</p><p class="p1">My feet fall back onto the stage, and I look at her with my hands on my hips and a proud smile. “Look good?”</p><p class="p1">“Could be a little smoother, but we’ll have plenty of time to work on it before you actually debut it on stage.”</p><p class="p1">I nod, getting ready to ask her if she wants a turn when the door swings open in the front. We both turn to see who it is, and Diesel rounds the corner holding his bag for the night.</p><p class="p1">He stops dead in his tracks when he sees us, a polite smile on his face. “Shit, sorry. Was this closed practice? I should’ve read the sign-up sheet.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re good,” I say, shamelessly checking out his outfit. He’s wearing tight black jeans and a white t-shirt with a matching black jean jacket on top. The denim on denim look isn’t normally one I favor, but he’s making it look straight out of a GQ magazine.</p><p class="p1">Gigi looks at me with a blatant smirk before turning back to him. “You want to practice, Lucas?”</p><p class="p1">“No thanks,” he shakes his head. “I’m working in the back again." Much to my dismay, he starts to walk away, and I'm just about to trade places with Gigi so she can start her routine when he walks backward. "I have some x in my bag. Was going to save it for later tonight, but you two look like you could loosen up." Neither of us says something until he rustles around in his bag and pulls out the bag of pills just enough that we can see what's going on. "See? Not lying." </p><p class="p1">"Hell yeah, then," I answer, looking over at Gigi. "Gi?" </p><p class="p1">She pauses to think, and I know she doesn't usually take anything before she dances in fear it will mess up her focus. This time she shrugs, cracking a smile. "Hell yeah." </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I make sure the way is clear before I step into the women's restroom, opening the door to both Gigi and Lucas in their uniforms for the night sitting on the counter. Gi opted for a short plaid skirt and a tied white shirt that shows off her breasts--that push up bra is <em>insane--</em>and Lucas has a fishnet shirt on with tight black shorts that show off his tan thighs. I catch a look at myself in the mirror and have to laugh at the differences, how I'm standing in front of them in black boots and cut off shorts with suspenders attached to them. People pay for this. </p><p class="p1">"We good?" </p><p class="p1">"We're good," I nod, sliding the lock on the door. It's still early in the night, and women are rarely here anyway, so we should be good to go in here. </p><p class="p1">"Open up then, Lou," Gigi giggles, and God is a Woman by Ariana Grande blares out of the speakers outside and bleeds out of the room. That song belongs to another dancer's track--it must be their night on the center stage. We all get one every month. Mine happened a few weeks ago. </p><p class="p1">I step forward, looking at the pills sitting in each of Lucas's hands for Gi and I. She grabs his, placing it on her tongue and holding it there until I grab mine. I reach my hand out, but Lucas pulls it back and looks me up and down. </p><p class="p1">I wait in confusion, looking over at Gi who shrugs and kicks her hanging feet out, whining something that sounds like we should hurry up. </p><p class="p1">Lucas laughs, plopping a pill on his tongue and pulling me in before I can even think about it. His tongue immediately slides into my mouth, and the ecstasy pill comes with it. I groan into his mouth, gripping onto the back of his neck. I forget Gi is still in the room, and when we pull back she's just staring at us in surprise, stifling a laugh until she lets a loud one out and immediately covers her mouth. </p><p class="p1">"Sorry," she says, but she's doing a bad job at hiding her shock. "I just wasn't expecting that." </p><p class="p1">Lucas smirks, his eyes basically burning into me when he adds, "Plenty more where that came from." </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The ecstasy hits right when I'm on stage and about to start my rounds, my senses amplified ten-fold while I'm crawling on the floor. Each scratch, indent, piece of dust or dirt feel like they're molding into my palms and as big as boulders. Cigarette smoke fills the air, and I'm smiling through it like I'm floating through clouds. Each molecule of tobacco hits my nose, and I inhale, approaching the edge of the mist when I find Harry on the other side. </p><p class="p1">Even through the ecstasy haze, my face falls, my heart drops. I was not expecting him to be here.  </p><p class="p1">He's right in front of me, a leg crossed over the other, his gold rings prominently in view while he rests his head on an open hand bent at the elbow. He's watching me like he's deciding if I'm worth it, scanning over my body and every move I make. </p><p class="p1">"Mr. Styles," a waiter announces, handing him a glass with a golden brown liquid inside. The upgrade from "sir" catches me off guard, indicates that Harry's established a relationship with him. Also makes the "S" on his other ring make sense. Have I really been that blind to his presence all of this time? </p><p class="p1">"Thank you, sir," he smiles with a nod, sipping the glass with a raised pinkie. </p><p class="p1">"I'm starting to get the feeling you're stalking me," I say when I move closer to him, keeping up the same facade I would if I didn't know who he was. I can't let on to the other customers that there's any sort of favoritism. It's still a matter of who has the most cash. </p><p class="p1">He knows that, reaching into his suit pocket to pull a couple of bills and slide them into the pocket of my shorts. "Will you give me a dance?" </p><p class="p1">"Right here?" He nods, and I'm surprised. "I figured you'd want to take me back." </p><p class="p1">"I do want to take you back but not to the room." </p><p class="p1">I search his face for answers, coming up empty. "It'll be $500 for a dance right here." </p><p class="p1">"Pocket change," he says and reaches back into his suit to produce more bills. Harry's fingers move over the waistband of my shorts, pulling it gently forward until he can place the bills inside. The amplified feeling of cold money makes my skin shiver, and I take a moment to tell myself I'm going to have to calm down in order to do this innocently. </p><p class="p1">Though is there innocent about the things I do here? </p><p class="p1">I settle in Harry's lap, listening to the beat of the song to start establishing a rhythm. I know the other guys around us are staring, and I play it up just like I was taught. Have to make them feel like they're missing out in order to draw them in. </p><p class="p1">"I figured you'd be gone by now." </p><p class="p1">"Gone?" He raises an eyebrow, producing a cigar out of his suit jacket. Jesus, what doesn't he have in there? I watch his hand dart out to beckon a waiter who comes over almost instantly to ask what he needs. "A match, please. Not a lighter. The smoking is better with a match." </p><p class="p1">"Right away, Mr. Styles," the waiter says, disappearing into the LED darkness of the club. </p><p class="p1">"That's a little overkill, don't you think?" I ask, sliding my fingers underneath my suspenders and teasingly moving them off of my shoulders. They're normally only slightly uncomfortable, but my skin is interpreting them as digging like knives into my back. </p><p class="p1">"I don't think so." He takes a sip of his drink, offering it to me. I decline. "I get a match, and he gets a beautiful tip. Now tell me why you thought I'd be gone?" </p><p class="p1">"You're staying at a hotel. That normally suggests you'd leave at some point." </p><p class="p1">"Does it?" He hums, and the waiter appears again to serve him the small box of matches on a black tray. Harry thanks him, placing a hundred dollar bill on the empty space. The waiter looks grateful, bowing his head slightly before scurrying off. </p><p class="p1">"Do you have a bank account inside of that suit jacket?" I laugh, the suspenders falling completely done to my sides as I sit up a little straighter so he's eye level with my stomach as I'm moving the shorts up and down my hips. He doesn't touch this time, resting his hands on his thighs instead as he blinks hungrily up at me. </p><p class="p1">Harry doesn't answer my question, but he waits for me to come down and move forward to say into my ear, "Meet me tonight. Not at the hotel but at my office. I'll send a driver so you won't have to worry about getting there." </p><p class="p1">"What?" I almost snort. He wants me to meet him at his <em>office</em>? Gigi's words are suddenly echoing in my head, and I look directly at him. "How do I know you're not trying to kill me?"</p><p class="p1">"I'll even extend the invitation out to all of your friends," Harry chuckles, but his demeanor radiates the utmost confidence. </p><p class="p1">"How do I know you're not trying to kill <em>all </em>of us?" </p><p class="p1">"You're stubborn, Louis," he says settling back into seriousness. I stop dancing because the song is over, and I follow the rules that require me to move off of him and onto someone else unless he pays for a private room. He doesn't flinch when I start to move, doesn't offer me any more cash to do anything else. "How about this? I'll send a driver, and if you don't come," he shrugs, "no hard feelings." </p><p class="p1">I hardly think that to be true. "Have a good night, Harry," is all I say, smiling professionally at him. He echos the same sentiment, lighting his cigar and turning his attention towards the stage. </p><p class="p1">Another man beckons me over with a wad of cash to ask me for a lap dance, and I comply, settling into a casual conversation with him about his work, his kids. I grind down slowly, turning my head to the side to steal another glance at Harry. He's not looking over here. He's just sipping his drink, taking a drag of his cigar, watching the other performers intently. </p><p class="p1">Maybe it's the drugs talking, or maybe it's just my absolute affinity for making bad decisions but...</p><p class="p1">Gigi is going to kill me for this. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>we meet niall and harry and louis finally have that conversation</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OKAY so this chapter is way longer than the other ones because I really wanted to establish the kind of dynamic that'll be at play from this point forward </p><p>also i made a playlist for this fic that i'll be linking in the next chapter </p><p>lou has some decisions to make hehe </p><p>thanks for ur reads friends &lt;3 super pumped to be over 400 hits now!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I let Gigi leave before me.</p><p class="p1">I mean, it was only the right thing to do. If she watched me get into a car of some strange man to go meet an essentially also strange man, I think she would literally break into the driver’s seat and run me over herself.</p><p class="p1">Not saying I wouldn’t deserve it, but I have to admit I’m curious about what’s going to happen tonight. I just have to convince myself to stop staring at myself in this mirror, get out of this chair, and walk out of the backdoor. The crash from the ecstasy hit hard almost thirty minutes before my shift ended, and it left me with a pounding heart and incessant irritability. Do I even want to leave?</p><p class="p1">Yes, Louis, get a grip. You want to leave.</p><p class="p1">“Alright then,” I say to myself, standing up way too quickly and almost blacking out. No water or food to drink since before work normally does that to me. I wonder if Harry’s driver will let me stop and grab some fast food on the way to wherever he’s taking me? Probably not. Probably under some strict order not to stop and to take me straight to the doors of what I can imagine is some overly expensive building with an overly expensive office on the top floor.</p><p class="p1">I take a deep breath, nod at myself in the mirror—I have to admit I look pretty damn good considering—and that’s it. I’m leaving. Right now.</p><p class="p1">In my mind, the backdoor opens in slow motion to reveal whatever’s on the other side.</p><p class="p1">And what’s on the other side is not at all what I imagined.</p><p class="p1">I imagined some sort of limo parked in the back with a guy holding a door open for me, but instead there’s a man parked slightly to the side of the door, and he’s standing outside of a white Range Rover with his arms crossed over his chest and clad in a long black trench coat, slacks, and sparkling dress shoes. He looks ridiculous against the cracked brick and dumpsters in the back of the building. Plus, he doesn’t even look in the direction of the open door. He just stands forward like he’s part of the president’s secret service team. This better be worth it.</p><p class="p1">“I take it you’re my ride for tonight?” I lean over the railing of the concrete steps to ask the man, and only then does he look in my direction. His right ear has an earpiece in it. What the fuck does he need an earpiece for?</p><p class="p1">“I take it you are Mr. Styles’s guest for the evening.”</p><p class="p1">“You would be correct.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you ready to leave…” He trails off, gesturing for me to complete the rest of his sentence. I almost tell him my first name, but I figure the vibe of this evening invites my last.</p><p class="p1">“Tomlinson,” I answer quickly. “Mr. Tomlinson.”</p><p class="p1">He nods with a professional smile, opening the door for me and holding a hand out for me to step inside. I would much rather sit in the front seat of the vehicle, but once I step inside, I realize that’s not even possible as there’s another man with a similar earpiece taking up the spot. Now I’m really starting to feel like I’m going to get killed.</p><p class="p1">The door shuts and partially startles me, but I tell myself to get it together. I feel around in my pockets to see if I have a spare bag of anything lying about, but I don’t. Fuck cocaine would be so good for this moment. Would really take the edge off of this whole thing. Whatever it is.</p><p class="p1">When the man gets into the driver’s seat, he adjusts the rearview mirror so he’s looking right at me, his finger reaching to press a button that starts the engine of the car. “I’m Lawerence Archer, and this is Niall Horan.” The man who’s apparently Niall turns around to wave to me with a large smile and then immediately outstretches a hand. “We’ll be taking of you this evening.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s great to meet you, Mr…?”</p><p class="p1">“Tomlinson.”</p><p class="p1">“Mr. Tomlinson,” Niall says with a firm tug down before separating from my hand. “How are you this evening?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine,” I sigh, settling back into the seat as Lawerence starts to drive the car, “and really, you both can call me Louis.”</p><p class="p1">“Nonsense,” Lawerence says at the same time Niall says “Whatever you want,” and the glance they share over the armrest tells me they have some difference in social style.</p><p class="p1">“Or you both can call me whatever you’re most comfortable with,” I add uneasily, taking a minute to contemplate if the question is really worth it before leaning over the back of the passenger seat. “Am I going to die tonight? Be honest.”</p><p class="p1">Niall laughs at that and promptly shuts up the moment Lawerence casts a side glance in his direction. In the most monotone voice he can possibly muster he says, “No, I’m afraid there won’t be any murderous activities happening tonight. Though I guess I’m not sure what’s actually happening.”</p><p class="p1">“He invited Mr. Tomlinson for a meeting,” Lawerence explains impatiently. “He invited him for a <em>meeting</em> at the <em>office</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh,” Niall says and then, “<em>Oh</em>” like he just realized what that meant. Am I supposed to be realizing something? Am I the odd one out of this entire situation? That’s a dumb question. Of course, I am. They’re so familiar with Harry they apparently communicate in the same code as Gigi and I.</p><p class="p1">Which speaking of.</p><p class="p1">I pull my phone out, pulling up our message thread. Now that I’m safe from her immediate grasps, I can let her steam through the phone. Then it’s Kendall’s problem.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, what’s the address to this place?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s—”</p><p class="p1">“Niall,” Lawerence says sternly, looking at me quickly in the rearview. “Is there a reason you want to know, Mr. Tomlinson?”</p><p class="p1">“With all due respect, Mr. Archer, I want to know where I’m going so I know what to say if something were to happen. Just a normal safety protocol. I don’t have the Range Rover and two bodyguard cushion that Mr. Styles does.”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll be well protected where you’re going—”</p><p class="p1">“Just give him the damn address, Lawerence. No need to be overly dramatic. It’s an everyday office.”</p><p class="p1">Lawerence sighs, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter before reaching over to the display in the middle. He hits a view buttons and then glances back at me once more. “The address should be on the screen behind Mr. Horan’s seat.”</p><p class="p1">Right after he speaks, the screen I didn’t even realize was there lights up with a map leading us to our destination. Well that’s a handy thing to have.</p><p class="p1">I quickly type <em>don’t even say anything because i know, and i can’t wait to hear all of the ways i’m a fuck up after sending you this but if anything happens i’ll be at 60 Wall Street tonight</em>.</p><p class="p1">This won’t go over well.</p><p class="p1">“What do you do for work, Louis?” Niall turns to ask me, and there’s something about him that makes me feel like I’m in the normal world and not on the way to see someone who treats $500 like $5.</p><p class="p1">“You saw where we picked him up, Mr. Horan.” Lawerence glares and man I really want to know what the deal is with these two.</p><p class="p1">“Let the man speak, Lawerence,” Niall shoots back, guarding his mouth when he adds, “Sorry about him. He’s been in the field for way too long. Probably needs to retire.”</p><p class="p1">“I heard that.”</p><p class="p1">“I wasn’t trying to hide it.” Niall rolls his eyes, turning back to me with the same look he started with. “So, what do you do for work?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m a stripper which sounds some type of way, I know, but I’m actually studying to be a lawyer.”</p><p class="p1">“A lawyer?” He asks surprised, nudging into Lawerence. “You hear that? Louis here is studying to be a lawyer.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s good for you, Mr. Tomlinson,” Lawerence tells me, and I can tell that it’s out of duty and to shut Niall up and not at all because he really cares about who I am and what I do.</p><p class="p1">“Where do you go?”</p><p class="p1">“Columbia.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Columbia? </em>Damn. Look at you back here with the brains <em>and </em>the money. It costs a pretty penny to go to law school down here.”</p><p class="p1">Yeah. It does. A lot of fucking money, and a lot of fucking money that me nor my family had to spare, but he doesn’t need all of those details. He just needs a lighthearted—</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, I’ll be in debt for a while, but I’m hoping it pays off in the end.”</p><p class="p1">“I have no doubts it will. I get a good vibe off of you.” I’m not sure how that’s possible given he’s known me for a total of seven minutes, but I’ll roll with it. “My daughter goes to Columbia.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yeah? What does she study?”</p><p class="p1">“Microbiology,” he beams, reaching for his phone and opening up a picture of him, a tall brunette woman, and two girls. He points at the shorter one with hair blonde like his, bright blue eyes, and a deep red smile. “That’s her. Hannah.” He points to the other one who has longer brown hair like her mom, and the build of an athlete. “That’s Olivia. Varsity volleyball captain this year.”</p><p class="p1">“They’re gorgeous.”</p><p class="p1">“Thank you,” he says with a nod, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “My wife and I had Hannah pretty young, so I’m just happy she made it here.”</p><p class="p1">“We’re close to the destination, Mr. Tomlinson,” Lawerence interjects like Niall and I weren’t at all having a conversation.</p><p class="p1">“Do you have kids, Mr. Archer?”</p><p class="p1">“A daughter,” he says without taking his eyes off of the road, and that’s the end of that conversation. Someone clearly does not like mixing business with pleasure.</p><p class="p1">The GPS dings up front to let us know we’re approaching the building just in time for me to get the response back from Gi.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>lou i swear to god you’re dead when you get back </em>
</p><p class="p1">A moment passes.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>if you get back, and you better hope to god you do </em>
</p><p class="p1">“Dramatic, dramatic,” I say under my breath and then type back as such right as the car comes to a stop near the entrance.</p><p class="p1">Lawerence puts the car in park, hitting the yield button much to the dismay of the cars immediately behind him who starts obnoxiously honking their horns. He seems unfazed, looking over at Niall and asking if he’d get the door for me. I suppose it would be safer that way.</p><p class="p1">“It was a pleasure, Mr. Tomlinson.”</p><p class="p1">“Likewise,” I reply. “Thanks for the lift, Mr. Archer.”</p><p class="p1">He tips his head to me in the rearview mirror, and Niall opens my door. I step out, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jacket as I wait for him to close the door. The nights are getting chillier now.</p><p class="p1">“Nice meeting you, Louis,” he smiles, offering me a parting handshake.</p><p class="p1">“Have a good night, Niall,” I answer, starting to turn around and walk towards the towering building.</p><p class="p1">“Louis?” Niall calls suddenly, and I turn back to face him. He’s half inside of the car, holding on to the edge of the door while the wind blows his hair in his face. “Miles should be inside to take you up to his office. I didn’t want you to think that you’d be left on your own to try and figure out where it is.”</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">A young woman is sitting at a large desk in front of large glass doors when Miles and I get off the elevator. We’re on the forty-seventh floor, towering over the rest of the New York City nightlife. I’ve never been in a building this tall nor in an office of someone with this much money. I feel underdressed standing here in the casual clothes I would wear to meet Liam for a study date with everyone else dressed to the nines—Miles wears a finely tailored suit with designer tags, and the woman behind the desk stands up to reveal a nicely fitted red pants suit with her hair tucked neatly into a bun. Let’s not even get started on the accessories.</p><p class="p1">“Mr. Styles will be right with you,” she says to me and then smiles over at my shoulder at Miles. “That’ll be all, Miles.”</p><p class="p1">Miles nods at both of us, disappearing without a word back over to the elevator.</p><p class="p1">I don’t know how to get comfortable in an environment like this. The room is dark save for the lights immediately above us and the subtle hue coming from Harry’s office. We’re the only ones here on a Sunday night, and somehow the woman is finding something to type away on her keyboard about. She smiles patiently at me when she notices my nervous pacing, asking me if I’d like anything to drink. I turn her down and settle on sitting down on one of the plush couches in the waiting area instead.</p><p class="p1">The material is a soft lilac purple accentuated with white throw pillows and an extremely modern painting I don’t recognize hangs above it. A quick google of the artist tells me that they’re known in the world of pompous, expensive paintings, and this particular one went for a couple of thousand dollars.</p><p class="p1">One months rent and then some hanging above my head right now.</p><p class="p1">Behind the desk, the woman perks up, pressing a finger to her ear. So she has one of those earpieces, too? Interesting.</p><p class="p1">Thirty seconds pass before she’s standing back up and walking over to the glass doors to my left, holding one of them open for me. “He’ll see you now.”</p><p class="p1">“Thank you…” I realize I don’t know what to call her, and I pause before walking fully into the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name?”</p><p class="p1">“Lydia Slater. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson.”</p><p class="p1">I open my mouth to tell her to just call me Louis, but I know it’s probably not worth it. I’ll settle with being on a first name basis with Niall if I ever see him again. I will need to get back to my apartment at some point tonight, and my car is currently stuck in the parking lot of the club.</p><p class="p1">I round a small corner to enter the office, and the appearance stops me dead in my tracks. The room is probably as big as ten of my apartments stacked next to each other, decorated finely with soft modern tan woods and monochrome paint that show off the absolutely gorgeous cityscape view. There’s barely any light in here save for a soft yellow hue, and the reflection of the city fills in the empty spaces.</p><p class="p1">Off to my right, there’s a small seating area that reminds me of a living room equipped with a white couch and two large chairs, a coffee table in the middle with a tray of empty glasses and a bottle of bourbon. Behind that is a counter with more alcohol and more glasses, plenty of cabinets and shelving filled with various trinkets and books and a cigar humidor. If I squint, I think I can make out a wine cooler.</p><p class="p1">To my left, there’s a long conference table with a chandelier overhead, and all of the surrounding chairs are neatly tucked into place as if they have never been used before. In the middle, there’s what I believe is a phone system meant for extended conference calls, and a flatscreen television hangs on the wall directly at the end of the table.</p><p class="p1">In front of me, there’s a desk. A beautiful, sleek, light wooded desk with a computer resting on top, stacks of papers off to the side, an office phone, all of the basics.</p><p class="p1">Behind the desk, standing and looking at the city in front of him with a glass in his hand is Harry fucking Styles.</p><p class="p1">“You came,” he says without looking back at me, his voice smooth like aged whiskey trickling down my throat.</p><p class="p1">“I came,” I answer, standing there awkwardly in the middle of a massive space. “This is quite the office you have here.”</p><p class="p1">Then he turns around, and the lighting frames him beautifully. Dramatically, I would like to compare him to some sort of God amongst men, but simply put it he looks stunning, enticing. I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here besides digging myself a grave for Gigi to rest my body in.</p><p class="p1">“Do you like it?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s a bit drastic for my taste, but I’d imagine I’ll have something similar when—” I’m a lawyer. I backtrack, remember why I’m here. “So I’m here. In your office. Where you wanted to meet.”</p><p class="p1">“I did,” he nods, chuckling slightly. “Please have a seat.” When I open my mouth to ask where, he finishes before I can say anything. “How about the conference table?”</p><p class="p1">Formal. Okay.</p><p class="p1">I pull out a chair, and Harry walks slowly across the room before doing the same. Across from me, he leans forward and presses a button on the phone system, and Lydia’s voice cuts through the tension-filled silence.</p><p class="p1">“Would you mind bringing Mr. Tomlinson a glass of bourbon and myself the file folder I gave you, Ms. Slater?”</p><p class="p1">“Right away, Mr. Styles,” she replies through the phone, and he lets go of the button, resting back on his chair with a simple grin on his face. I can’t read him.</p><p class="p1">Lydia shows up not even two minutes after, and her high heels click loudly against the floor as she first delivers a glass to me and then walks over to present Harry with the file folder. We both thank her, and he waits for her to leave before scooting closer to the table and folding his hands in front of him on top of the folder. The rings catch in the light, and I notice he’s replaced his initials with two others.</p><p class="p1">At least he’s not obnoxious <em>all</em> of the time.</p><p class="p1">“So you work at a strip club?”</p><p class="p1">Why do I feel like this is an interrogation? “Yes. That is how you met me.”</p><p class="p1">He crookedly smiles. Sarcasm received. “Why?”</p><p class="p1">“Why does it matter?”</p><p class="p1">“So you’re defensive about it,” he notes with a pensive look, and his eyes are moving all over me in the same way mine are moving all over him.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not defensive about it.”</p><p class="p1">“Then answer the question. It’s simple, really. I’ll even repeat it. Why, Louis Tomlinson, do you strip? Surely there’s a reason, but perhaps I misread you and the situation. Maybe you just like doing it. I wouldn’t blame you for that. God knows you have the body and the skill for it.” Harry leans in closer, pointing a finger on the table to accentuate his words. “I just have a feeling there’s more under there.”</p><p class="p1">“What makes you sure about that?” I challenge, sitting forward in my seat as well. Two can play at this game.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not sure about that,” he admits with a laugh. “I said I had a <em>feeling</em>. That’s different than being sure, no?”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe,” he repeats with a shrug, lifting his glass up to his lips. I watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows, stare at his fingers bringing it back down to the table.</p><p class="p1">I narrow my eyes at him. “Why should I trust you with any sort of information?”</p><p class="p1">“Why shouldn’t you?”</p><p class="p1">Fair enough considering I told Niall more information than Harry, and Niall hasn’t been inside of me. More than twice.</p><p class="p1">“I’m studying at Columbia to be a lawyer. Bills are expensive. It’s over a hundred thousand dollars to attend school there, and I wasn’t able to take out any financial aid.”</p><p class="p1">“Why?”</p><p class="p1">I swallow, my cheeks starting to burn. “My parents don’t have much to their name.”</p><p class="p1">“Why?”</p><p class="p1">“Jesus, is this twenty questions?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m a curious man, Louis.”</p><p class="p1">“My mom’s sick, okay?” There. It’s out in the open. He can take with that as he will. “She has a rare form of cancer, and they’re trying a lot of experimental treatments, and it’s expensive. I need to pay my bills and then I help them pay off hers.”</p><p class="p1">“And stripping provides you with that income?”</p><p class="p1">“You’ve seen where I work,” I answer like that’s an explanation because it really should be. Our clientele base is people like him who have a lot of cash and no where else to put it. “You paid me $500 for a lap dance and called it pocket change. I’m a deposit only ATM for men with way too much money on their hands.”</p><p class="p1">“It is a problem, isn’t it? Having way too much money in your hand?” Harry takes a long pause and a long drink, setting the empty glass off to the side. “I don’t exactly like to have all of that money in my hand at all times. I like to spend it. I like to buy private jets and penthouses in different cities and designer clothes. All things I like, of course. I just don’t just buy to buy.”</p><p class="p1">I shake my head at the absurdity, downing the bourbon inside of my glass. “That sounds like buying to buy to me.”</p><p class="p1">“I guess it all depends on how you look at it,” he counters cockily. “You never answered my question, Louis.”</p><p class="p1">“It pays the bills.” It does. That’s not a lie, but I’m not the most comfortable. The medical bills pile up back home quicker than we can count, school loans are being paid off in increments and I’m only in my first year, rent, food, all of it adds up. Plus, he’s the only client that pays that much. The other nights are not nearly as fruitful as the ten to twelve thousand dollar nights he gave me. Those are once in a lifetime.</p><p class="p1">“What if I told you I could pay your bills?”</p><p class="p1">I look at him confused. “What are you talking about?”</p><p class="p1">He sits back, resting his hands over the file folder in front of him and then sliding it across the table to rest in front of me. I stare down at the blank cover. What is he doing? Offering me a job?</p><p class="p1">Harry repeats, “I could pay your bills. Open the file.”</p><p class="p1">What is he—I open the file, fingers turning over the pages until I actually compute what I’m looking at.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not a charity case,” I protest, shutting the folder and starting to shove it back in his direction, but he stops it with his hand and pushes it right back.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t think you’re a charity case. I think that you’re a man who deserves a more comfortable life, and I’m a man who wants to give it to you.”</p><p class="p1">I stare at him for a minute in hopes that he’ll crack and be the one to revoke the absurd paperwork in front of me, but he doesn’t. He just stares back, challenges me, somehow manages to get deep into my soul, and drives me to slide the folder back in front of me and open it up again.</p><p class="p1">Essentially, he’s providing me with a contract.</p><p class="p1">A contract that reads like a business transaction in which his cash enters my bank account in return for my company.</p><p class="p1">“This sounds like you’re hiring me as an escort,” I utter while I’m flipping through the pages, reading through each detail of all he could offer—trips, food, housing, clothing, sex.</p><p class="p1">“It’s not about the sex,” Harry says, “but it’s not like that would be an issue. Do I have to remind you about how hard I made you come when we were together?”</p><p class="p1">My jaw tightens at the memories that I’m trying to suppress right now to keep a clear head, and I flick my eyes up quickly to look at him watching me do this. He doesn’t look like this is any different than a usual exchange for him, and I feel so, <em>so </em>far from where I belong right now.</p><p class="p1">“This is asking a lot of me.”</p><p class="p1">“This isn’t asking anymore than what would be expected out of a relationship.” I open my mouth to protest because I’m pretty damn sure it is, but he holds his stupid fucking hand up to silence me, and I’m stupid enough to let it happen. “Think about it, Louis. A relationship consists of two equally participating partners who expect each other to do everything with the other. If there’s a party, you go together. A trip, you go together. You decide on breakfast, lunch, dinner. You ask opinions on what you should wear. You share a bank account. You surprise them with fresh lingerie, new positions, establish a power dynamic in the bedroom. What’s in your hands is no different.”</p><p class="p1">“If it’s so close to a relationship, why don’t you just do a relationship?”</p><p class="p1">“Because I don’t do relationships.” God, the <em>cliche. </em>What’s next? He tells me he has some sort of traumatizing past that makes him unavailable to actual love? Gross. <em>“</em>I make money, I spend money. That’s what I do. And the amount of money I’d expend on you would only work to your benefit.”</p><p class="p1">“It sounds like a lot of money.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s why I want it on paper,” he says and gives me a few more minutes of looking over all of the fine print before he continues. “You don’t have to sign anything right now. Take it home with you, think about it. I recognize that it’s a fairly large commitment, but I want you to remember that everything is in your control.”</p><p class="p1">I reach the end of the contract, closing the file folder and finishing the rest of my drink. “I want to go back to my apartment.”</p><p class="p1">“As you wish.” Harry’s face is expressionless as he reaches for the intercom again. “Ms. Slater, would you mind calling the car for Mr. Tomlinson?”</p><p class="p1">“Just a moment, sir,” she replies.</p><p class="p1">He looks up at me as I stand. “Miles will take you back down to meet them.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” I say, needing to walk out of there and leave the contract on the table. It’s absurd, it’s ridiculous, it’s demeaning, it’s nothing that I would want whatsoever.</p><p class="p1">But he’s looking at me with his perfect jawline and his clean-cut hair and the suit that shows off every single one of his features and his rings on the long fingers that have me begging for it in ways I never thought I would.</p><p class="p1">I could stand to take in more cash. I really could.</p><p class="p1">At the last second, I grab the file folder off of the table, and I expect at least a slight reaction from Harry and get nothing. He just takes another sip of his drink, and thanks Lydia for her trouble when she opens the door behind me.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll think about it,” is all I tell him, and then I turn on the heels of my shoes and walk out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>louis makes a decision</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as promised, <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3NhWOPKhKssksVog6FdG42?si=-Hk2DYNjTe2FDq9PKbqV3w">here's</a> the link to the playlist. </p><p>and of course, thank you for reading &lt;3 over 500 hits now! we love to see it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I think about it when I get home that night.</p><p class="p1">Curled up in bed, staring at the only window in my apartment that has a brick wall view. Zayn’s blasting music from his room, and I’m too distracted to get up and pound on his door to ask him to stop. He’s probably fucking some chick anyway, and really I should be grateful he decided to cover up the noises.</p><p class="p1"><em>In terms of travel, </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Harry Styles</em> </span></span><em>would like </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Louis Tomlinson</em> </span></span><em>to be available for business trips, holidays, and other leaves of absence for any detailed purpose. </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Louis Tomlinson</em> </span></span><em>would reserve the right to decline to leave for circumstances detailed prior to the signing of the contract. </em></p><p class="p1">A train goes by outside of the apartment, rattling the walls. I groan and roll over to check the clock. 4:21. Great. Not like I have class in the morning or anything.</p><p class="p1">I press a pillow to my face and practically scream into it before shoving it off of me and looking up at my ceiling. There are so many small cracks, signs of wear.</p><p class="p1">Fucking hell.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I think about it when I’m getting ready for school.</p><p class="p1">My under-eye bags are prominent, taunting me and looking like I’ve been punched in the face. The smell of burning eggs seeping under the door and into my nostrils is making me sick to my stomach.</p><p class="p1"><em>In terms of housing, </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Harry Styles</em> </span></span><em>would offer <span class="u">Mr. Louis Tomlinson</span> a new apartment coupled with his desired amenities including but not limited to terraces, swimming pools, private chefs, butlers, and cleaning services. </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Louis Tomlinson</em> </span></span><em>reserves the right to undergo the housing process with </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Harry Styles</em> </span></span><em>in order to ensure his needs are met. </em></p><p class="p1">A headache is starting to brew from lack of sleep, and it’s the kind that’s starting to affect my eyes, my jaw. I try to massage out my shoulders but nothing’s even putting a dent in it. Fuck it.</p><p class="p1">Liam texts me asking me if I’m almost ready, and that must mean he’s almost outside of the apartment. Okay. This is fine. This <em>is</em> fine. Right? I don’t care. Nope. Don’t care one bit. I pull open the top drawer with all of the money, shifting to the other side of it and moving away more socks. There’s a tiny box at the bottom that when I open it reveals a small bag of white powder, a few different labeled pills, and a few ounces of weed.</p><p class="p1"><em>Additionally, </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Harry Styles</em> </span></span><em>would extend his gratitude by offering </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Louis Tomlinson</em> </span></span><em>to live inside his penthouse with the address 20 West 53rd Street. This would grant </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Louis Tomlinson</em> </span></span><em>with access to all of the amenities already belonging to <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> Mr. Harry Styles</span></span></em>, but he would still reserve the right to ask for additional amenities including but not limited to personal assistants or personal stylists.</p><p class="p1">I line up the cocaine on the counter in the bathroom, leaning down with a rolled-up dollar bill to snort it. The moment I’m done, I tip my head back to make sure I got it all, and then look at myself in the mirror.</p><p class="p1"><em>Finally, if </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Louis Tomlinson</em> </span></span><em>would desire to keep his current living arrangements, </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Harry Styles</em> </span></span><em>would like to provide </em> <span class="u"> <span class="s1"> <em>Mr. Louis Tomlinson</em> </span></span><em>with a personal driver and on-site protection. </em></p><p class="p1">I got this.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I think about it in class.</p><p class="p1">Liam kicks me under the table, nudging me back to life. The entire class is staring right at me, and I realize I must’ve been cold called.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry, Dr. Stevens, do you mind repeating the question?”</p><p class="p1">“Is your mind somewhere else, Mr. Tomlinson?” She asks as she impatiently taps her heel on the ground. A few people snicker in the first row, and my face heats up. On the spot and I can’t even do anything about it.</p><p class="p1">“Yes. I apologize for being distracted.”</p><p class="p1">“Let’s see if you can redeem yourself then.” Dr. Stevens turns around to face the board, aggressively writing three categories underlined in chalk. She’s the only professor I’ve had in years that still insists on using a chalkboard. “In the Coker versus Georgia case, name the following information: the dates of argument and decision, the verdict, and the vote.” She puts down the piece of chalk, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at me.</p><p class="p1">Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Liam is trying not to laugh, stifling it by pressing a hand to his mouth and staring down at his notes. Come on, Lou. Think.</p><p class="p1">“In Coker v. Georgia,” I start, looking around the room nervously. I really shouldn’t have done that coke this morning. “The dates of Coker v. Georgia—“</p><p class="p1">“With confidence, Mr. Tomlinson,” she interrupts me and gestures for me to stand up.</p><p class="p1">I’ve done the reading. This shouldn’t be any sort of issue.</p><p class="p1">“Coker v. Georgia was argued on March 28, 1977, with a decision made three months later on June 29, 1977. The vote was 6-3, and the verdict was against capitol punishment for sexual violence against a woman.”</p><p class="p1">“And what amendment is that relevant to?”</p><p class="p1">I take a minute to think. “The eighth, I believe. It was considered cruel and unusual punishment.”</p><p class="p1">She looks impressed, beckoning for me to sit down and calling on someone else to give further details on the case. Liam nudges into me, and I turn my ear slightly in his direction.</p><p class="p1">“How’d you pull that one off?”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t know,” I whisper back, “I’m super high.”</p><p class="p2">
  <em>In terms of physical commitment, <span class="u">Mr. Harry Styles</span> would like to establish that this agreement permits <span class="u">Mr. Louis Tomlinson</span> from sexual and romantic relationships outside of <span class="u">Mr. Harry Styles</span>. Following the signing of this contract, any existing or budding relationships should be terminated. This would mean that the only sexual and romantic relationship had by <span class="u">Mr. Louis Tomlinson</span> is what he desires with <span class="u">Mr. Harry Styles</span> until the closing of the contract. </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>While the sexual relationship dynamic should be discussed prior to the signing of the contract and detailed in writing, <span class="u">Mr. Harry Styles</span> would like to maintain a strict line of power that would dictate when certain things were to occur. This includes but is not limited to the happening of oral sex, anal sex, and other uses of sex toys. </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Despite the signing of this contract standing as an agreement to this assertion, <span class="u">Mr. Harry Styles</span> would like to emphasize that <strong>nothing will ever happen without the consent of <span class="u">Mr. Louis Tomlinson</span></strong> regardless of the situation.  </em>
</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I think about it at work. </p><p class="p1">Harry doesn't show up today. Instead, another man with far less poise and dominant energy takes his place. That man doesn't tip the waiters, doesn't beckon me over, and no one invites me to the back for a private dance. </p><p class="p1">I push through the doors to the dressing room after the shift, plopping down next to Gigi. This is one of the only times we've ever been scheduled on different days--me leaving while she's getting ready to start. She glares at me while she's applying lip liner, smoothing at the edges with her fingertips. We've already talked about what I did--or rather she yelled at me for what I did and then we went to get pizza--but the aggravation still remains. </p><p class="p1">"Was Mr. Gold Rings here today to steal you off into the night?" </p><p class="p1">"No," I answer simply, reaching under the counter for a make-up wipe. I don't have much on tonight, but it's enough that will start to piss me off if I don't address it now. </p><p class="p1">"Quiet night then?" </p><p class="p1">"Quiet night." </p><p class="p1">She stops her actions, dropping her lip lining pen back into her make-up bag and turning towards me. "What's wrong with you? Are you depressed or something?" </p><p class="p1">Depressed or something. That's funny. </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Finally, the small details include Mr. Harry Styles's desire to be involved with Mr. Louis Tomlinson's clothing and eating decisions. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>In terms of clothing, Mr. Harry Styles would like to provide Mr. Louis Tomlinson with a credit card in which he could purchase what he pleases without question. The bill will be received and paid by Mr. Harry Styles at the end of every month. Of course, the funding will be limited with a cut-off amount of $300,000 a month as to cater to the additional expenses of Mr. Harry Styles's personal life. In addition to this, Mr. Harry Styles will provide Mr. Louis Tomlinson with the most up to date designer clothing lines if that is his desire. If the decision is made by Mr. Louis Tomlinson to move in with Mr. Harry Styles, a designated changing and wardrobe room will be given. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>In terms of eating decisions, Mr. Harry Styles would like to make clear that he does not wish to dictate Mr. Louis Tomlinson's eating habits. Instead, he would like to provide Mr. Louis Tomlinson with only the finest and cleanest meals so that Mr. Louis Tomlinson can maintain adequate levels of nutrition and remain in the best possible health. This would be especially important in regards to any sexual agreement as physical fitness and endurance could be necessary. </em>
</p><p class="p1">No, Gi. I just have a contract sitting on my desk back at home that wants to dictate my entire life in whatever way I choose and I'm actually considering doing it. </p><p class="p1">"No," I shake my head, lie straight through my teeth. "No, I'm just distracted. I have an exam coming up in that one class I complain to you about all of the time." For effect, I add, "Plus, I'm out of powder." </p><p class="p1">"I can get you some more," she answers, but she doesn't turn away from me. I know that look of hers, and I know she knows I'm hiding something, but she's kind enough to let it go and not press about what. Luckily, her phone rings, and she breaks away from death staring me to check the caller ID. Gigi mumbles, "It's Ken," and then disappears out of the room to hear her better. </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I think about it in the library with Liam and Natalie. </p><p class="p1">Natalie shoves a catalog in my face, pointing excessively at a dress in the corner. "This is what my mother wants me to have. Atrocious, isn't it? I would much rather shop at Vera Wang. They have the most gorgeous sheer dresses I've ever seen." </p><p class="p1">I look up at Liam who looks like he's sweating bullets, shooting me a look that tells me I need to at least pretend to care. He proposed this past weekend. </p><p class="p1">"That's atrocious," I agree even though I honestly don't think so. I think it would suit her body type, actually. </p><p class="p1">"And then there's the issue of the venue and the time of the year. I mean, summer weddings are beautiful, but it can get so hot in the Hamptons. Did Li tell you that's where my father wants us to hold the ceremony?" </p><p class="p1">"No," I say just to get this over with. My book and notes are open in front of me, and I really, <em>really</em> need to study for Frederick's exam. This kind of decides how the rest of my career is going to go. </p><p class="p1">Yeah, yeah. I know I told Liam it doesn't matter, but that was just to make him feel better. Probably didn't work either considering we both know it really, <em>really</em> matters. </p><p class="p1">"We have a vacation house in the Hamptons, and there's a beautiful courtyard that would be perfect for the ceremony. I'm just worried. So then I'm like, 'Natalie, just hold the ceremony and the reception in the fall!' but I know that's a terrible idea. Rain is too common in the fall and the cold. Rain and cold is not a good combination for a wedding." </p><p class="p1">"I need to go," Liam announces suddenly. "No one follow me. I just need some air." </p><p class="p1">I watch him scurry away and disappear into the shelves of books, and I hope that his absence will stop Natalie from going on and on about the stress of the wedding. He just needs to talk to her, tell her how he feels. It's not her fault that she's built her entire life around this moment, and it's not his fault that he doesn't see the big deal with marriage and just wanted to wait. </p><p class="p1">"I wonder what's the matter with him?" Natalie asks, looking back over her shoulder as if he would somehow still be standing there. "Do you know, Lou?" </p><p class="p1">"No, I don't," I reply, giving her a shrug and a faux unknowing smile before returning back to studying. </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Any and all parts of this agreement are subject to critique by <span class="u">Mr. Louis Tomlinson</span> prior to final signing. </em>
</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I burst through the doors of Harry's office, and Lydia's trailing behind me along with somebody with the build of Miles who isn't Miles. He gets his hands on me as I round the corner, stopping me in front of Harry who's deep in conversation with three other men in fancy suits. Harry stops mid-conversation to look towards the door, and his expression is something between annoyance and shock to see me. </p><p class="p1">"We need to talk," I tell him, holding up the file folder in my hands. </p><p class="p1">"I'm sorry," Lydia says behind me. "I tried to stop him." </p><p class="p1">"That's alright, Ms. Slater," Harry says calmly, and the other men are also staring at me like I've just made the biggest fool out of myself. </p><p class="p1">"What should I do with him, Mr. Styles?" The man firmly holding my other arm says. </p><p class="p1">"Let him stay, Mr. Evans, and you both can go. Thank you." Mr. Evans lets me go, nodding at Harry and disappearing out of the office with Lydia. Harry stands up, adjusting his tie and smiling down at the men at the table. "It's been a pleasure talking with you gentlemen this afternoon, but if you don't mind, I would prefer to continue this conversation over drinks tonight? My treat." </p><p class="p1">They all look at each other, asking unspoken questions probably about what the hell is going on. Eventually, they settle at looking at one guy who is probably the head of their organization, and he gives them a helpless look before he makes a decision. </p><p class="p1">"That's fine, Mr. Styles. Thank you for your time." </p><p class="p1">He stands up and the rest follow, each of them nodding their heads at me as they walk past. Harry watches them leave, resting both hands on the table in front of him as he bends over. I'm assuming this won't go over well in three, two... </p><p class="p1">"You can't just barge in here unannounced like that," he says down to the table. </p><p class="p1">I step forward to drop the file folder onto the table, and in the silence, it's the only thing that makes an audible thunk. "We have things to talk about." </p><p class="p1">"You could've talked to Lydia before you--" </p><p class="p1">"Oh no," I stop him, speaking incredulously. "No, no, no. I'm not going to start making these bold changes and then have to make an appointment." </p><p class="p1">"Those were businessmen, Louis. Customers. People that are important." </p><p class="p1">"I think you'll be just fine. They looked a little stiff anyways. Must've needed the break." </p><p class="p1">His jaw clenches, the muscles moving in his cheek as he looks up at me. He hasn't shaved since the last time I saw him, and the stubble growing around his upper lip and his chin tell me that. The subtle shadow looks good on him. Stiffly he says, "Sit." </p><p class="p1">I do as I'm told, settling into the nearest seat and sliding the folder towards him the moment he sits down. I've made marks and comments in it over the past week and a half I've had this to think. "Those are my conditions." </p><p class="p1">His initial rings are back on his finger, and he uses the one with the prominent 'H' to tap on the unopened folder. "You've taken your time to read it then?" </p><p class="p1">"Yes," I say in disbelief. "You think I would just sign my life away without taking a moment to read the fineprint?" </p><p class="p1">"You'd be surprised how many people do," he mentions casually. Has he done this before with other men? Surely. I feel like I'd be foolish to think I was the first one. I mean, he drafted up a fucking contract for heaven's sake. One that had blanks to fill in with our names, and fine-tuned rules. I wouldn't be surprised if I went through the cabinets in here and found a drawer with a bunch of old contracts inside. </p><p class="p1">"I'm not most people." </p><p class="p1">"So you've proven with your theatrics and thorough readings." </p><p class="p1">"My theatrics," I scoff. "You think you don't look over the top?" </p><p class="p1">The side of his lip curls up into a slight smile as he opens the folder and begins to read. I sit there in silence while I listen to him turn the papers, gazing out of the large windows behind him that reveal the heart of the city. We're so high up I can't see much else besides the tops of various buildings but something about it feels calming, settling. </p><p class="p1">"You've made changes," he notes after a beat.</p><p class="p1">"I made changes." </p><p class="p1">"Good. Let's talk about those." </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">A few days past before I see Harry again. He needed to make the final copy of the agreement, comb through the details one more time. I settle into my normal routine without thinking too much about it--bantering with Zayn, listening to Liam battle with himself on whether or not he should talk to Natalie (he should), learning that Kendall took the promotion and they're going to have to move into an apartment closer to her work. </p><p class="p1">Life is fine. Life is normal. </p><p class="p1">Save for the way that everything absolutely is not. </p><p class="p1">Harry calls me just a few hours before he wants to see me, requesting that I meet him back at his office. I slip out of the house without Zayn asking any questions likely because he's busy with a girl who isn't Gretchen (<em>shocking</em>, isn't it?) and Redbone by Childish Gambino, racing down the stairs to open a door to Niall waiting for me in a black Range Rover this time. I bet he has a garage full of cars somewhere. </p><p class="p1">"I hope that you don't mind I told Harry we seemed to get along," Niall says with a big smile, opening the door to the passenger seat. Good. I really didn't want to sit in the back again like some sort of child on timeout. "He assigned me to you." </p><p class="p1"><em>Assigned</em>. Like I'm a mission. </p><p class="p1">"I'm not sure Mr. Archer and I's personalities worked well together," I chuckle, stepping inside before he closes the door and jogs over to the other side. </p><p class="p1">"Lawerence's personality doesn't get along with most people. He just worked for Harry's father, and he kept on after--" He stops himself, looking over at me when he puts the car in reverse. "Well, some things happened." </p><p class="p1">Some things. Okay. There's a mystery to this now. Secrets to be kept. Though we've all got them in one way or another. </p><p class="p1">Niall switches on the radio halfway through the ride, and apparently he likes smooth jazz because the sound system immediately starts blaring something with a powerful saxophone beat. He apologizes for the volume, reaching over to turn it down. I don't really care. The closer we get to his office, the more nervous I feel, so I'm just trying to distract myself out of anxiety. </p><p class="p1">I tap on my coat pocket with my palm, smiling to myself when I feel the small plastic baggy stuffed in there. </p><p class="p1">Problem solved. </p><p class="p1">"Do you mind?" I ask when I pull out the baggy filled a quarter way with cocaine. In hindsight, I probably should've been more careful with my willing incrimination, but I assume that the men working for Harry have dealt with this and then some. They can keep things on the down low. </p><p class="p1">He looks quickly over at the baggy, shaking his head even though I notice the way his shoulders tense. "No, that's fine." </p><p class="p1">"Are you sure?" </p><p class="p1">"Yeah, it's fine," he answers like it's not a big deal even though his demeanor tells me it absolutely is. I contemplate waiting until I'm inside of the office, but I run the risk of cameras inside the building, and I'm not sure getting arrested for drugs as a first-year law student at Columbia would look very favorably to, well, anyone. </p><p class="p1">I wait until we're a couple of minutes away to wet my index finger, shoving my finger inside and coating it up to the first knuckle. I pull down my bottom lip, generously coating the gums until there's nothing left all while noticing Niall's side glances in my direction. </p><p class="p1">It's okay. I needed this. Now let's go sign this thing. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a spicy scene, a sad moment, a heartbreaking one</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>to say that i'm shocked to be over 600 hits is absolutely an understatement. </p><p>this is just something i was convinced to go through with by a friend and post on here and i expected literally nothing (especially bc so many larries hate first person &gt;:( #justiceforfirstpov))</p><p>thank you, thank you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Harry dives in to kiss me, arms bracketing me in and pressed up against his desk. I naturally flinch, and my hands brush against some papers that inevitably fall to the floor.</p><p class="p1">I blush bashfully, diving from his grasp and falling straight to the floor to pick them up. “Sorry,” I laugh nervously. “I can be so clumsy at times.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you nervous, Louis Tomlinson?” Harry asks cockily, an eyebrow quirked when I slowly stand up and place the paper back onto his desk.</p><p class="p1">“Me?” I blow raspberries, brushing my hand through the air. “No way. Not nervous one bit.”</p><p class="p1">“Good,” he says lowly, stepping back forward right back into my space, and I try to get comfortable against the desk and only end up dropping the papers again.</p><p class="p1">“Sorry, I just—Sorry.” I look down at the papers, pushing them together sloppily and trying to set them somewhere that my stupid clumsy hands won’t touch again. “What if Lydia comes in?”</p><p class="p1">“I sent Lydia home.”</p><p class="p1">“And Miles?”</p><p class="p1">“Knows better than to come into my office when I have company.”</p><p class="p1">When he has company. Right. I doubt he means the kind of company that conducts business deals, but the kind of company that invites him to turn the lights in the office low after hours, trap the guy in between the desk and himself under the guise he just wanted to talk.</p><p class="p1">I guess he meant talk in tongues.</p><p class="p1">“I’m definitely not shy and have done a lot of things in my life. I just can’t say that fucking in an office in front of very large windows and very obvious people down below is one of them.”</p><p class="p1">Harry grins, closing in one more time and this time I let him. His arms hook around my thighs, looking over my shoulder at where he’s placing me before he sets me there, far away from any papers I might knock over once more.</p><p class="p1">“You’re in for a world of new experiences.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yeah?” I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck when he closes in on me, kissing me with pent up passion and lust I have no choice but to reciprocate.</p><p class="p1">So this is what it’ll be like.</p><p class="p1">It’s slow on the onset, heavy as we keep going until he’s backing me up, pressing against my body with his heavy weight and cedarwood cologne. My back falls a little too quickly backward, and the arm I shoot out to try and steady myself without taking my lips off of his ends up knocking the papers over <em>again</em>.</p><p class="p1">I pull away to utter some worthless apology, but Harry catches me, attaching his lips to my throat while he says some semblance of “Fuck the papers” against my skin.</p><p class="p1">He bites down hard, obviously trying to leave a mark, and it passes through my mind that I never considered putting anything regarding that kind of thing in the contract. I was too caught up in the fact I now have a $300,000 monthly allowance on a credit card and am greeted like I have power when I walk into a room now.</p><p class="p1">Harry licks over the bruise he made, and then bites softly down onto my earlobe, a hand working down between us to cup me over my jeans. “And I get all of this whenever I want it,” he sighs, fumbling with one hand to pop the button and unzip my fly. He does it with an ease that makes me want to ask him exactly how many times he’s done that, but I let it be for now.</p><p class="p1">“You happy about that?” I say when he separates from me to step back and start undoing his own tie. My pants are undone, resting mid-thigh while I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him undress.</p><p class="p1">Contract or no contract, I’m definitely not complaining.</p><p class="p1">“You know how long I watched you at that club?”</p><p class="p1">I shake my head, swallowing hard when his hands slide over his tie and drop it down onto the floor. That action kind of feels like a crime considering how much that tie probably cost.</p><p class="p1">Harry shrugs off his suit jacket, revealing the crisp whiteness of his dress shirt, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think it looked so damn good on him I wanted him to leave it on. I’d also be lying if I said I was sober enough to even remember that he has tattoos as each of them reveals themselves to me when he slides the shirt off of his arms.</p><p class="p1">If there’s a Lord in heaven, I think I might want to thank him now.</p><p class="p1">He notices my staring and gives me a look that tells me he knows what I’m thinking. “A few weeks.”</p><p class="p1">“A few weeks?” Okay, seriously how did I not notice him if he’s been there near the stage for a few <em>weeks</em>. No way. I dance the same stage every night, I walk the same paths every night, I make rounds every night. I wouldn’t have missed him. He’s impossible to ignore.</p><p class="p1">“I watched from afar at first.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh?” I ask, cocking my head to the side while his fingers work over his pants for a moment before stopping midway through undoing his belt.</p><p class="p1">“You want to do this for me?” He flashes me a million-dollar smile, and I fall for it, slipping off of his desk to land on my knees in front of him. I’m good at taking off belts and getting men out of their pants regardless of their power and stature and, in this moment with Harry, I’m no different.</p><p class="p1">“You watched me for that long without doing anything?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m a businessman, Louis, and you’re an investment. The good ones always calculate their moves.”</p><p class="p1">“Had it all planned, huh?” I ask, but the moment I have his pants shoved down to his ankles, and I’m pressing open mouth kisses over his cock, I think I want to stop talking. I don’t care anymore about what he has to say, when he saw me, how he saw me, for how long he sat there in the blackness of the club and watched me twirl around poles and bribe other men to tip more than they wanted.</p><p class="p1">I just want this.</p><p class="p1">“As I said,” he starts, but I blink up at him as I wrap my hand around the base, jerking slowly before taking the tip into my mouth, and his head falls back in a momentary loss of control, “the good ones always calculate their moves.”</p><p class="p1">I hum around him, shifting on my knees so I can move my head further down until my nose is nearly pressed against his skin. Harry’s hand flies down to the back of my head, gripping the hair so tightly I feel like he’ll pull it straight out at any sudden movement. At least I know I’m doing something right.</p><p class="p1">He tastes clean like he cares about himself and his diet, and I’m chasing it, coating my mouth in it until he’s yanking my hair back to get me to stop.</p><p class="p1">I pull off with a pop, his cock still against my lips as I’m looking up at him with swollen lips and trying to catch my breath.</p><p class="p1">“Let’s cross off another first of yours, shall we?” Harry asks, holding a hand out for me to help me up. The moment I’m standing his lips are back mine, kissing me dizzy while he’s pushing my pants and boxers out of the way in one clean motion. I kick off my shoes to step</p><p class="p1">out of them, and then I’m at his mercy, following his adamant movement backward until I hit the coldness of glass with a clunk.</p><p class="p1">Oh shit.</p><p class="p1">He turns me around so my cheek is up against the glass, and I’m almost afraid to open my eyes. We are forty-seven flights up after all, and why would I want to look down at how far we’d fall if the window were to crack open?</p><p class="p1">I part my lips when I feel his fingers against them, letting him slide two inside and generously coating them with spit. He probably has lube somewhere in this office considering how the events of this evening are unfolding, but I don’t think he really wants to use it. I’ll have to grin and bear it but that’s okay. I like the sting of adjusting to the size of another man.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck, Harry,” I sigh when he pulls his fingers out and separates my ass cheeks to teasingly press against my hole. I worked into the contract that I’m allowed to call him by his first name now much to his annoyance. He’ll get over himself.</p><p class="p1">“Open your eyes, Louis,” he states sternly, and I crack one eye open slowly, moving my head back to even be able to begin to see. I’m met with the darkness of nighttime, the stars glimmering with silver and white in the sky, the tops of buildings with some offices still lit up with life, and this is fine. This is fine if I don’t look down and nothing requires me to look down.</p><p class="p1">Harry presses his two fingers in when I least expect it, wrapping an arm around my stomach to pull me back into a better angle for access. My hand slides down the glass with an obvious squeak and he just mutters something behind me about needing to call the window cleaners so casually like he’s not curling his fingers inside of my ass.</p><p class="p1">“You make a habit out of fucking men against windows?” I ask out of breath, abruptly losing his fingers and hearing him spit down onto himself.</p><p class="p1">“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”</p><p class="p1">No. I don’t. The more I think about how many guys have been here, how many people are walking around New York City still wearing clothes that he bought, still living with the memories of moments like this, I start to feel more fucked up than I already do.</p><p class="p1">I think that’s just about the worst thing someone could feel: fucked up.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">“Test scores are out!” Liam rushes out on the other line the moment I pick up the phone. I’m dodging people walking around Times Square and starting to regret wanting a bagel in the middle of top tourist breakfast hour.</p><p class="p1">“Are you serious?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m serious. I’m looking right now at mine I’m—“ He trails off as I hear him fumbling around with his computer and typing frantically on keys.</p><p class="p1">“Okay, Li, just let me sit down. I’m in the middle of fucking hell right now—Excuse me, ma’am, sorry—just trying to get to Friedmans.”</p><p class="p1">“Friedman’s? What are you crazy?” Liam laughs, and I can imagine him shaking his head. “It’s like 10 in the morning, Lou, the lines are going to be insane.”</p><p class="p1">“I had a taste for a breakfast bagel.”</p><p class="p1">“Should’ve just ordered through Grubhub.”</p><p class="p1">"I didn’t feel like paying the delivery fee.”</p><p class="p1">“Cheap.”</p><p class="p1">“Smart,” I correct, and the last of the crowd disperses and settles into a decent but fast-moving line. “Have you talked to Natalie?” His lengthy silence on the other line tells me no. “Li, you have to talk to Natalie.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want her to think I don’t want to marry her.”</p><p class="p1">“She won’t think that if you’re honest about why you’re not participating in all of the planning. Not participating in all of the planning without reason makes you guilty. Being guilty means—“</p><p class="p1">“You don’t have to lawyer me,” he says and then, “but I can lawyer you. I scored a 95 on Frederick’s exam, Lou. A fucking 95.”</p><p class="p1">I sigh, pressing my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I try to fish out my laptop from my bag. The line moves up to the point we’re almost inside, but I don’t have the patience to wait for a table.</p><p class="p1">“Alright, hold on. I’m trying to not drop my computer on the sidewalk of W. 47th.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not that far from you. Why don’t I just come to meet you? Get a table for two and we can celebrate.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, sure,” I agree into the phone. “I’ll see you in a few then.”</p><p class="p1">“Deal.”</p><p class="p1">The line goes dead, but I keep the phone pressed to where it is, typing slowly and painfully with one hand to log in to the system. I click on Frederick’s class, scrolling over to the exam page and where the grades are and—</p><p class="p1">“A D?” I say out loud. “I basically failed. I—A D?!” The people in front of me give me a weird look when they turn around, and I ignore them in favor of clicking on the commentary box next to the score.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Mr. Tomlinson, it appears that you do not have the adequate critical thinking skills necessary to move on in your endeavors. I’ve attached feedback on your responses. Better luck on the next exam.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“What a fucking dick.” The man in front of me turns around again thinking I talked about him, and I flash him an apologetic smile. “Not you, sir, sorry. I just got my test scores back.”</p><p class="p1">He turns back around without any acknowledgment, and I shut my laptop to tuck it back into my bookbag. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This was not in the plan even a little bit. Nearly failing Frederick’s exam? I don’t fail exams. I don’t even almost fail exams.</p><p class="p1">I’m so dead. If I can’t get my shit together for the next exam—the <em>last</em> exam—I’ll fail the class literally and won’t make it to second semester on time which means I won’t make it to 2L on time which means I won’t graduate on time to start my fellowships. All of my peers will be ahead of me. I—</p><p class="p1">“How many, sir?” The host asks me.</p><p class="p1">“Uh, two,” I cough to clear my throat. “Two.”</p><p class="p1">“Right this way.”</p><p class="p1">Everyone at this place is dressed up, deep in happy conversation, clinking their forks against plates and drinking mimosas, and I just got a D on an exam in one of the most important classes in all of law school.</p><p class="p1">That’s it. I’m going to have to study more. Cut back on drugs. Focus. I need to focus. That’ll solve all of my problems and then I won’t have to worry about and Dr. Frederick’s will be blown away at how intelligent I am.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">"This would look amazing on you." </p><p class="p1">I spin around in the store and am met by Vivian, my new personal stylist, holding up a navy blue suit jacket. She nudges it in my direction, smiling proudly. </p><p class="p1">I pick it up, holding it over myself in the mirror as she comes behind me to watch her suggestion come to life. I'm not sure about it. It's so different from what I usually wear. </p><p class="p1">"I don't know, Vivian," I bite at the inside of my cheek, catching the whiteness of the price tag hanging off of the sleeve. "How much is this?" </p><p class="p1">"Mr. Styles instructed me not to bother with prices. I'm only looking at what would accentuate your features." </p><p class="p1">"Did he now?" I ask without the need for an answer, waiting until she turns around to start grabbing more items to lift the price tag up. My stomach almost drops. No way in hell am I about to walk out of here with a $2500 suit jacket. </p><p class="p1">"Mr. Tomlinson, you're not supposed to worry about that," she says in a playfully taunting voice behind me. I ignore her words, running my fingers over the price. The credit card he gave me is burning holes through my wallet in my pocket, and I was supposed to take this time to break it in. </p><p class="p1">"I don't go anywhere that would require this kind of thing." </p><p class="p1">"Aren't you a law student?" She inquires absent mindedly, appearing behind me again with matching pants, a white dress shirt, and a crisp black tie. "Law students are supposed to make statements. I don't suppose you've been attending class in <em>that</em>?" Vivian gestures at what I'm wearing--simple blue jeans with a t-shirt from a Foo Fighters concert Liam and I went to before the semester started. </p><p class="p1">"There's nothing wrong with this," I answer defensively, sliding my hands over my shirt to smooth over the suddenly noticeable wrinkles from the coin dryer in my apartment complex, "and <em>no</em>. I don't wear this to class." </p><p class="p1">"What do you usually wear?" </p><p class="p1">"I don't know," I shrug, trying to genuinely think about it. "A button-up and jeans."</p><p class="p1">"Hm," she says in clear judgement, setting the clothes she picked out on the table next to me and walking away. She's damn good at her job because now I'm thinking hard about my outfits and what everyone else around me wears. Liam's my closest comparison and even he shows up with a long black trenchcoat, dress pants, at least a dress shirt, and he's normally carrying a fucking <em>briefcase.</em> </p><p class="p1">Now that I think of it, I think most people show up in outfits like that. Natalie isn't even a law student, but she always meets us in the library with regal looking pantsuits or dresses. </p><p class="p1">Okay. So maybe I've been a tadbit underdressed. </p><p class="p1">"Vivian, how much will this cost?" </p><p class="p1">"I already told you, Mr. Tomlinson," she replies with a hint of impatience in her voice. "I'm under strict instruction not to tell you." </p><p class="p1">"I could just look at the tags, you know." </p><p class="p1">"I know," she says, and I look back at her in the mirror as she's running her hands over some other dress shirts in the corner with a smirk on her face, "but I don't think you really want to." </p><p class="p1">I groan, looking down at the pile one more time before picking it up with a grudge and heading to the back where the dressing rooms are. I don't think I've ever shopped in a store with full length mirrors, finely selected lighting, and a small stage in front of each door for after you try on a suit. Then again, nothing I've ever purchased clothing wise has come out with more than a few hundred dollars total. I won't look, but this tie probably costs that and then some. </p><p class="p1">Vivian doesn't follow me, and I'm grateful for that. I can try on my clothes in peace. This is the third store we've been to, and it's not even noon. I've found something wrong with every one of them. The material too loose, too tight, too smooth, too rigid. I don't know how to spend money like this. Something about it feels unnatural like I'm sucking up resources that aren't even mine and that's just when I have a card with my actual cash on it. Now I have one with money that <em>isn't </em>mine, and I'm just supposed to bath in it like it is? </p><p class="p1">There's a mirror inside of the dressing room as well as the outside, and I'll take advantage of that before parading myself around Vivian and taking in her critiques. I wait to look at myself until I have the full ensemble on (save for shoes) and the moment I do I manage to lose my own breath. </p><p class="p1">The suit jacket isn't a perfect fit, but it could be with some tailoring. The pants are almost the perfect length, hanging just short of the tops of my feet. This tie reflects nicely on top of the white of the shirt, compliments the navy sufficiently. I hate to say that Vivian might've been right, but she might've been right. I look clean, I look fit, I look... </p><p class="p1">
  <em>"...handsome. Absolutely handsome." Mom runs a hand into the front of my hair, smoothing down the parts that were sticking up without right. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"I look like dad," I say with a laugh, but there's a sense of pride in my veins when I catch a glimpse at my entire body in the mirror. I wait for a comment about how this is his suit after all, but it never comes. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Your father is a handsome man, so it would only be fitting for you to look the same," is what I get instead. I turn around to face her, and she looks like she's the proudest she's ever been in a long time. A tape measure hangs loosely around her shoulders, her hands firmly on her hips as her hair is tucked up in the way that means she's going to work. I was her customer today. I got to be on the receiving end of all of the small needle stabs and tugs on thread and measurements that take so long because she just wants it to be perfect. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Do I look like I'll ace the interview?" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"You look like you'll ace anything, darling." </em>
</p><p class="p1">"Mr. Tomlinson? Are you alright in there?" </p><p class="p1">I blink to snap myself out of it, realizing that I've just been standing here and staring at myself. My eyes are starting to fill up with emotions I don't want right now, so I wipe them away with the back of my hand, sniffling once and straightening my posture. </p><p class="p1">"Yes, sorry," I watch myself say. "The suit looks great, Vivian." </p><p class="p1">"Well let's see it then!" </p><p class="p1">"Just a moment," I toss over my shoulder, bending over to pull my wallet out of my pocket and shoving my fingers inside to find what I'm looking for. I pop a pill on my tongue, swallowing quickly. "I just had to finish buttoning the shirt." </p><p class="p1">I open the door to Vivian standing there with more clothes, and she nearly drops them when she sees me. "Mr. Tomlinson," she coos, gesturing for me to turn around. "Goodness some fine tailoring to this and you'll look like a million bucks." </p><p class="p1">"It probably costs that." </p><p class="p1">"Oh hush." She's nearly beaming when I'm back to being face to face, and I have to ignore the sense of pride she has. </p><p class="p1">She looks too much like a mother. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the chapter in which the angst tag comes to fruition. we all have things going on in the end.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>u guys rock for subscribing and viewing this so many times. it's really pushing me to keep going :,) </p><p>xo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Goood morning," I say happily to Niall as I walk twirling my keys around on my finger towards the car. </p><p>He nods his head. "Louis Tomlinson." </p><p>"Niall Horan," I mock, and that makes him laugh as he closes the door, adjusting his suit while he walks over to the other side. Once he's inside of the car, I prop my feet up on the dashboard, resting two arms above my head. So maybe I'm a little high. "How're the girls?" </p><p>"The girls are the girls," he replies, scanning over my feet on the dash and saying nothing. He opts for turning on the radio instead, and there's that damn smooth jazz. "I haven't heard from Hannah in a few weeks, but I think it's because she has the dreaded boyfriend." </p><p>"Oh boy. How are you feeling about that?" </p><p>He shrugs, leaning forward to see past a mob of people on the corner before making a left. "She's a good kid. As long as her grades don't slip, I don't think there's much I can do about it." </p><p>
  <em>In my kitchen, the only thing lighting up the room are the two nightlights mom used for us when we were little. It's late. Really late. And I went to a party, came back drunk and making too much noise and now--Well, it's exactly what I expected. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You should be ashamed of yourself," my dad points his finger at me, pacing angrily back and forth over the same few feet of distance. "Absolutely ashamed of yourself. My son does not wake the entire house up smelling of vodka and cigarettes." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Weed, I want to correct, but I think I need to let that one slide for right now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Darling," my mom cuts in, reaching a hand out to settle him. He flinches away from her touch. "Maybe we should talk about this in the morning. You're not thinking clearly, and he probably needs some sleep." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"He needs to think about his future," he says to her and then turns back to me. "You think you have what it takes to be in law with behavior like this?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It was a simple mistake," my mom tells him sternly. "Do we need to talk about all of the things you and I used to get up to at his age?" </em>
</p><p><em>"Our goal as parents,</em> darling<em>, is for our children not to repeat our mistakes." </em></p><p>
  <em>I don't say anything as they settle into an argument. I don't know that it was a mistake. Mistakes you don't repeat, and I've been partying ever since I learned I got into the pre-law program at Columbia. I don't have to worry about anything in high school anymore and can finally take a breather. The mistake is more in the whole stumbling into the house and waking everyone up thing. It really wasn't cool, but I'm not sure I'm mentally aware enough to actually admit that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That'll be a morning issue. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And look at him," he gestures over to me, and at this point he's just looking like a blob of blue robe and some skin. "He doesn't even know where he is." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"He's eighteen," she says softly, reaching over to rub a hand over mine. "Just let him have a little fun. He's a good kid with good grades going to school at one of the best in the country. It isn't like he's slacking off." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"If this were one of the girls--" He always did think she plays favorites. Maybe she does.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It would be the same treatment," Mom replies. "Why don't you go up to bed and we'll deal with this in the morning?" She asks but dad and I both know that it's not a question but an order. No argument he could make would change her mind, and I watch the blob of blue robe become smaller and smaller and smaller until the energy in the room tells me it's just her and I. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm sorry," I whisper because I know that will be enough for her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She smiles softly, brushing hair behind my ear before she stands up and places a kiss on the top of my head. "Don't mind him, sweetheart. He just thinks highly of you." </em>
</p><p>Niall snaps a finger in front of me, jokingly asking if I'm still alive. </p><p>I shake my head, turning to look at him. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. Sorry. Were you saying something?" </p><p>"Just that Olivia won her game last night." His phone rings before he can say anything else, and he presses accept on the car screen but then talks directly to the earpiece I can't see from here. </p><p>"That's good, that's good," I say to myself, looking out the window. So many people, so many different lives all comingling, coexisting. Yet, no one knows the names of the people they bump into, what they went through that day, what they ate in the morning. Sometimes they apologize and sometimes they don't. It's insane how much time we spend up in our own hands. "Louis, are you sure you want to see Mr. Styles right this moment?" </p><p>I take my feet off the dash, settling in a more proper posture in my seat. "I'm sure. Why?" </p><p>"No reason," he replies, but his hands are gripping the steering wheel a little more firmly. </p><p>***</p><p>"Perhaps you would want to wait in the waiting room for a moment, Mr. Tomlinson," is how Lydia greets me the moment I'm off of the elevator. Her arm gently intertwines with mine as she leads me over to the couch. </p><p>"No, that's okay, Lydia," I laugh, tapping on her arm. "I'm under a bit of a time crunch for school this morning. I just needed to clarify some details of--" She's looking at me like she has no idea what I'm talking about and nor does she care. "I'm going to go in and see him." </p><p>"I really don't think that's a good--" I don't hear the rest, her voice muffled by the closing of the office door behind me. I don't know what to expect to see considering all of the drama of me coming in here, but the voices speaking aggressively around the corner stop me from rounding it to find out. </p><p>"And you think you're doing a good job running this place? The people downstairs are animals, Harry. They have no sense whatsoever." Downstairs? I've almost forgotten there is a downstairs. I've only ever seen the foyer, the elevator, and this space. </p><p>"I'm sorry," Harry replies sarcastically, "Would you rather me go down there and whip them into shape like you used to do with <em>you</em><em>r </em>people?"</p><p>"Some of them down there worked for me too." </p><p>"And they're feeling much better under my leadership."</p><p>The man scoffs and then starts laughing excessively. "You call this leadership? This is a circus! They're not even wearing proper attire--"</p><p>"They're not in charge of the meetings, and the ones that are are right next door to this office, dressed in full suits, sitting at a desk in a clean office. If someone wants to cut a deal they see <em>me. </em>I set the tone for this building."</p><p>I'm starting to get the sense I really shouldn't be here, and right as I'm about to turn away, my backpack snags on a piece of decoration and pulls right off my body and onto the floor. </p><p>"Shit," I say under my breath, kneeling down to grab it, but the bag breached the corner, and as I'm reaching for the top of it I have no choice but to look up at who's in the room.</p><p>"Oh, who's this?" The man asks Harry, and he sounds demeaning. </p><p>"Let it go, dad," Harry replies. </p><p>Dad. </p><p>Oh shit. </p><p>I scramble a little faster to pick up my things and stand up, waving apologetically. "I'm sorry. I just came to see Harry and didn't know he had company." </p><p>"He was just leaving," Harry replies, looking straight at his father who's oblivious to his words. </p><p>"He's on a first-name basis with you, son?" </p><p>"Dad--" </p><p>His dad holds up a hand to silence Harry the same way Harry would use his to silence me. As he steps closer, I can see the resemblance in facial structure, the same eye color, the professional stature. "I take it this is one of your new toys." </p><p>My blood warms up, my heart pumping. I suddenly feel like I'm about to be under siege, and honestly, I'm regretting not listening to Niall or Lydia about maybe just waiting until the battle in here settled. </p><p>"I'm sorry?" </p><p>"Louis, just leave it," Harry tries to tell me, but he's not moving at all to get in the middle of us. </p><p>"Did he write you into some contract like the rest of 'em? Stick you inside of a file folder and tuck you into a cabinet?" I swallow, backing away slowly as his dad continues to sulk forward. "Louis, is it?" I nod out of nerves and perceived compulsion. "You're not special, Louis. He'll chew you up and spit you out just like every other sorry boy who came before you." </p><p>"Enough!" Harry shouts behind us, banging on the desk with a closed fist. "Get the hell out of my office, Dad." Another bang. "Do it yourself or I'll have security come in here and remove you. This conversation is over." </p><p>His dad lifts his hands in defeat, turning around to walk back over towards Harry and his briefcase. I think for a second that he'll go quietly with his things until he lifts a hand and strikes Harry across the face with the back of it. Harry flinches, reaching a hand up against the impact and clenching his jaw as he looks away. </p><p>"Remember who put you here, boy," his dad spits, and he knocks into my shoulder as he walks out of the office. </p><p>So that's his father. </p><p>Harry doesn't say anything as he sits down behind his desk and opens his laptop. It's weird to see him actually working, and it's even weirder that he hasn't looked up to acknowledge I'm standing here. I drop my bag, shuffling carefully over to the seating area in front of the desk and pick one of the chairs to sit in. </p><p>"I got your note about the art gala," I offer, clearing my throat and sitting forward on my thighs. "You need a date." </p><p>He glances at me over his screen. "I do. Preferably you." </p><p>"It is written in the agreement," I say with a laugh, but the inside of me runs cold at the fact that I'm probably right and there probably are bunches of files tucked away in here with names of guys who aren't me. </p><p>"It is." Harry goes back to typing on his computer, running a hand over his cheek. I feel compelled to do something considering he was just hit by his father. Not lightly either. That definitely looked like it hurt. </p><p>"Can I ask Lydia to get you anything or..." </p><p>"Are you free?" </p><p>"What?" </p><p>"For the gala." He still isn't looking at me, but he's at least stopped typing. </p><p>"Yeah, I'm free." </p><p>"I heard Lydia finally talked you in to buying a suit. Wear that." </p><p>"Okay," I nod once, clasping my hands in front of me. When it becomes apparent this is not going at all how I planned, I start to stand up and pick up my bag. I do it all slowly just in case he actually wants to talk. "I'm sorry for barging in like that--" Or I want to talk. I've never really learned how to keep my mouth shut. </p><p>"Louis--" </p><p>"Niall and Lydia both tried to suggest that maybe it wouldn't be the best idea, but I'm stubborn and just wanted to pop in about the gala. Kind of the gala, at least. Really I have 40 minutes until class starts and figured that'd be enough time for a morning quickie--" </p><p>"<em>Louis</em>," he cuts me off again. "I need you to leave." I finish picking up my bag, and this time he's finally looking at me. Did he really just ask me to leave?  I mean I'm basically standing here having just tossed out the fact that I was one hundred percent really here for sex, and his appetite for that lately hasn't been easy to keep up with. Harry blinks once. "Louis." </p><p>"Right, yes. Leaving." </p><p>I turn around on my heels, beelining straight for the door. So much for a good morning. Now it's all cloudy grey with an impending thunderstorm.</p><p>"I'm sorry that he said to you," Harry slips in right before I turn the corner to open the door. "My father is an asshole who doesn't know when to quit." </p><p>I don't get the sense that he wants me to say anything, so I don't. I just leave. </p><p>***</p><p>The sound of the buzzer in our apartment cuts through the silence. Zayn just got back from work. He had a shitty day, so he hasn't said much and just barged his way into the kitchen and started making dinner. </p><p>I have the day off today, so I'm taking advantage of the quiet to catch up on some reading. Liam and I were supposed to meet up to study, but I finally managed to convince him to talk to Natalie, so it's just me. Me and the neatness of a freshly clean room, soft study music playing in the back, a glass of merlot resting on a couple of closed books on the mattress. </p><p>"Lou?" Zayn knocks on my door, and I shout to tell him he's good to come in. "There's a package downstairs for you. From an HS?" </p><p>I'm fast to get up, catching myself half-way through bouncing off the bed to grab the glass of wine before it crashes over my entire mattress. Zayn looks at me suspiciously, and I know I'm doing a shit job of concealing that anything is going with me. They all know that Harry and I have hooked up, but they have no idea that I'm locked into a literal deal. I plan on keeping it that way because I'm not even really sure how to explain it. </p><p>"I'll get it, Z, thanks," I rush out, pushing past him and pulling open the front door. </p><p>I don't even have shoes or socks on, and I'm barely put together, but the mailroom won't care. They've definitely seen worse from the other tenants I'm sure (and me. One time I walked down here almost naked to pick up a package from my dealer. I'm pretty sure my pupils were entirely black, my arm bleeding from running into the edge of the counter top on the way, and I couldn't even walk). </p><p>They have me sign off on it, and the size of the box makes me feel like it's all of the clothes from the tailor. They must've shipped them over to Harry and then he shipped them to me. I could've gone to pick it up. This is a waste of shipping cost. </p><p>"Have a good day, Chuck."</p><p>"Take care, Louis," he replies, going back to flicking through his magazine and popping another glob of chewing tobacco under his lip. I could never get past having to spit it out into a cup every fifteen minutes. Or the oral cancer. </p><p>Zayn's serving himself pasta when I get back upstairs, raising his eyebrows when he sees the size of the box in my hands. "What'd you order from HS?"</p><p>"He's not a--" Company. No, Louis. Discretion, remember? It's not like he's going to check your facts. "It's a suit company. Harry Sullivan." I instantly regret actually giving him a name, but he doesn't seem to want to ask anymore questions related to the place. </p><p>"You're wearing suits now?" </p><p>"Trying to up my game. You've been around my law friends and what they wear." </p><p>"They always look pompous." He points his fork and knife at me. "Don't go pompous. I didn't sign up for a richy rich roommate who's too good to take drugs with me." </p><p>I roll my eyes, adjusting the box in my hands. "I'm walking away now." </p><p>There's a pair of scissors on top of my desk that I use to cut the box open, opening it up to find exactly what I expected save for the suit jacket and the matching pants. Instead there's a single note on the bottom in bold black ink on heavy, cream white stationary. </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>The suit doesn't deserve to be stuffed in a box. </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>I have it with me at my house. </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You can get it before the gala. </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>It's going to look charming on you, by the way. </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>- HS </strong>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>harry's penthouse and some pent up emotion &lt;3 </p><p>and a lil spice bc that's necessary</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the way that this almost has 1000 reads... i'm crying actually </p><p>*louis voice* thanks luv(s) xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turns out, Niall is a vault of information. </p><p>In fact, he's a vault of so much information that he's sitting in the driver's seat, indulging me in a long story about what dictates if he and the other staff members are able to attend the galas alongside him. Apparently, he normally has an assistant alongside him--a personal one that I'm assuming I'll meet when I step inside of his penthouse--but the rest is up to his finely detailed set of criteria. </p><p>Most of which involve the attitude of his plus one. </p><p>Tonight, I'm his plus one. According to Niall, that means I'll have a significant pull on whether or not he gets to check out the latest modern art of New York City, and if the finely combed hair and excessive cologne he's wearing is anything to go by, I'm assuming he really, <em>really</em> wants to go tonight. </p><p>He finishes a story about a man Harry was with a few years back who absolutely despised him to the point that he refused to go anywhere with Niall in the driver's seat, and something about it keeps him nearly crying with laugher in the front. I have to agree with the absurdity of it. How could anyone anywhere hate Niall Horan? </p><p>"I think it's because I called him on his bullshit," Niall explains after I ask the question out loud. I'm surprised by the brashness of his response, but he pays no attention to me. "I know that it's rich to say that he was arrogant given the fact I'm your personal chauffeur at the hands of my boss, <em>but </em>he was awful, Louis." He looks over at me quickly. "He just started that way, too. The moment I opened the door for him, he talked down to me. It was painful. But between me and you, I used to pawn him off to Lawerence. Literally." </p><p>"You bribed him?" I ask with a laugh, taking another long hit of the blunt I rolled before I got in here and blowing the smoke out of the window. </p><p>"I bribed him," he laughs back nearly hysterically. The high combined with his mood drives me to join in with him until we're both probably looking like lunatics to the outside. "Hey, don't get all arrogant on me, Louis, or I swear I'll pawn you off to Lawerence." </p><p>"Please do <em>not </em>do that," I groan, throwing my head back against the headrest. "He's so dry, Niall, I thought I was going to die on the car ride." </p><p>"You survived!" He cries out dramatically, punctuating it with his hands like he's a character in <em>Frankenstein</em>. </p><p>"Because of you," I point out, putting out the joint in an ashtray he provided me. This must be a more common occurrence than casually whipping out a bag of cocaine. "And for that, I will put in a good word with Harry <em>if </em>I have a leg to stand on." </p><p>"Please," he scoffs. "You two are fresh and new. You should have all of the pull in the world." </p><p>"I walked in on him and his father the last time you took me to his office, you know." </p><p>He nods solemnly, his face settling into something serious. "I know. I thought about warning you but it's out of my jurisdiction. Plus, I kind of figured Lydia would persuade you enough to stop you." </p><p>As if she could stop me when I have an agenda.</p><p>I consider just dropping it, but that's no fun when Niall's willingly giving up information. "They seem to have a complicated relationship." </p><p>"To say the least." </p><p>"What happened between them, Niall?" </p><p>We come to stop at a red light, and he looks over at me, his head rolling against the back of his seat. "You're not getting that out of me tonight, Tomlinson." </p><p>I fake a pout, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Please?" </p><p>"No, sir," he chuckles lowly, turning back to face the road when the light turns green. "That one you're going to have to ask him yourself." </p><p>***</p><p>My converse look out of place on the marble floor leading to the door of Harry's place.</p><p>There's a separate elevator to get up here, of course, and it came with a younger doorman under the name of James Ferris. I'm going to have to start writing all of these names down at the rate we're going. </p><p>James hits a button on the wall outside of the doors, and another voice I don't recognize asks who's on the other side. </p><p>"It's Mr. Tomlinson," he says with a straight face, only cracking a very, very small smile (if you look closely enough) when he notices me looking at him. </p><p>"Mr. Tomlinson, yes," the person on the intercom repeats but this time with the door open. She and James share a glance, and James disappears back to the elevator. I thought Gi and I's codes were elaborate but clearly we have nothing on this. "I'm Mrs. Thomas, Harry's personal stylist and assistant outside of buisness hours." She leans over to say through playfully gritted teeth, "But when do his business hours <em>really</em> end, am I right?" I laugh like I'm supposed to and then settle back into neturality. "Do you prefer Louis or Mr. Tomlinson? Some people can be so fussy about things like that." </p><p>"Oh, Louis," I say a little too quickly. "Louis, please. The formalites are killing me." </p><p>"A simple man! I love it." She stops us in the foyer, looking at me like she's forgetting something and then perking up when she realizes what it is. "You haven't been here before. That's right. Well," she clears her throat, "this is Harry's residence. Normally he likes to give a personal tour to his guests, so I'll let him do all of the hardwork. I'll let him know you're here." </p><p>I smile at her when she walks away, and then take a second to take this in because <em>holy fucking shit</em>. </p><p>His hotel looked like a motel compared to this. </p><p>I mean this is--This is a room of windows with white offsets almost fifty floors above the rest of New York City. There's a table behind me with a glass top, a small bouqet of flowers resting on top of it (when I say small, I don't <em>mean </em>small, but in comparison to everything else...small). I strain my neck to take in the modern gold plated chandelier hanging down in small circles, the ceilings towering over me and probably adding a couple stories just with that. Then of course there's a beautiful staircase directly next to me with glass railings and a dark hardwood offseeting the white staircase. I can barely absord what's to the right or the left of me because there's so much right here. God, this place seems to go on forever and-- </p><p>"Louis Tomlinson." Harry's voice. Harry's voice with a hint of a smile in it. What a nice change of pace compared to the last time I saw him. </p><p>"Harry Styles," I return, following the sound of his voice until he's turning the corner on the staircase in nothing but a plush black towel. He leans over the railing on the middle landing, looking me up and down with a satisfied look on his face. </p><p>"You know, Louis Tomlinson, my understanding is that you have the start of a new wardrobe on your hands and yet you're wearing ripped jeans and an Adidas t-shirt." </p><p>"I figured there was no use wasting a nice outfit when it was <em>my </em>understanding I would change into a new one for the night." </p><p>"You know, we would both be better off in nothing." He moves his hand slowly along the railing as he's looking at me, and my body responds to the suggestive imagery by picking up my heart rate and shuffling my feet as I'm standing still. "I left you hanging in my office before, and I kicked myself for it after. I shouldn't deprive myself of you like that. <em>You </em>shouldn't be deprived of me like that." </p><p>He's being so playfully cocky, I want a bite of that too. "I think I did just fine that night."</p><p>Mrs. Thomas appears from the left-hand side, walking casually past us while she's checking her phone. Without even looking up, she says, "Vivian will be here in an hour, Harry. Use your time wisely because you know she won't want to wait." </p><p>"Thank you, Violet," he says sweetly and then laughs at the stunned look on my face. "You'll get used to the coming and going. Come shower with me." </p><p>***</p><p>Harry's arm outstretches to adjust the water temperature, his bicep flexed right in front of me and begging for a touch. I run my hands over the smooth muscle, squeezing gently and watching the droplets of water fall over his shoulders and the strong muscles of his back. </p><p>"I've been meaning to ask you why exactly we fucked in a hotel if you had this beautiful penthouse suite right here." </p><p>"Have you now?" He smirks, wasting no time and attaching his lips to the front of my throat as he slowly backs me up against the shower wall. I look over his shoulder at the view, how the sun is starting to set and put a lovely orange glow on the grey and white marbled walls of his bathroom. My clothes are on the floor right outside of the glass wall separating us from the sinks and the bathub, and his towel is hanging next to my towel on the holders above the heap. It's oddly domestic under the circumstances but I'm in no position to complain.</p><p>"You're an enigma," I sigh when he starts to work his way downwards, kissing over a nipple and then kissing his way to the other. He takes a bud between his teeth and tugs, alternating after that between smooth licks and sucking softly. I've never considered that to be a place of much pleasure for me but apparently it is when someone works hard enough for it. </p><p>"I told you, Louis Tomlinson, that good businessmen scout out their investments." </p><p>"I was under the impression you didn't even live in New York City," I say as I look down at him, smoothing his hair out of the way while he's mouthing at my stomach, and so fucking close to my cock. "I didn't expect to see you again." </p><p>"And if the scouting went poorly," he works his mouth over the base of my cock, dangerously close and fuck I've never wanted something more than I do right now, "you wouldn't have seen me again." </p><p>I want to ask what exactly it means to be on the successful end of a Harry Styles scouting adventure, but I don't have time to think when he sinks down on my hard-on, lips suckling perfectly all the way down and lessening the pressure on the way up. Just how I told him I like it. He wraps one hand around me while he starts a rhythm, and the other smooths up my abdomen and my chest until he's pinching at the nipples he spent so much time on before. </p><p>"You're really fucking good at that," I tell him breathlessly, moving away from brushing the hair out of his face to curl my fingers in the back of his head, tugging gently on the strands. </p><p>He pulls off of me as quickly as he started. </p><p>"Don't do that." </p><p>"Don't do what?" </p><p>"Don't touch me like that. Just--Hands behind your back, Louis."</p><p>The moment I take his hands out of his hair, he keeps going, taking me slowly down the back of his throat and not even showing the slightest evidence of a gag relfex.</p><p>Don't touch him like that. Like what? Like a normal human response to getting their cock sucked in the shower?</p><p>"Turn around," he demands, and I do so without blinking. Harry's hands immediately fall to my ass, massaging the globes of muscle in his palm before delivering a firm slap that makes me whimper more than I thought it would. "Your fucking <em>ass</em>," is all I hear before his face is buried in exactly that. </p><p>So that must be one of the items on the "pro" side of my scouting list if his reaction is anything to go by. </p><p>Harry shifts to spread me apart more, sliding his tongue deeper inside and starting a nice rhythm. I have nothing to grip onto, so my nails are digging deep half-cresent indents into my own palm. He only pulls away to spit down onto my hole, rubbing it in with his thumb. Waves of pleasure are moving through me at record speeds, and right when I think I'm about to break his wishes and touch myself, he does it for me. </p><p>Thank fucking god. </p><p>He's skilled with his hands, sliding two fingers inside of me and timing his thrusts with the flicks of his wrist. The burning in my stomach is already intensifying at every upwards stroke, and he's barely even hitting my prostate. </p><p>"Fuck, Harry," I sigh out to the shower wall in front of me, glancing down at my cock disappearing and reappearing in his fist. Precome glistens the tip and I'm so embarassingly close already that I'm already starting to meet the thrusts of his fingers, grinding back for more. </p><p>"You're so desperate for it," he says tauntingly, pressing his lips to the bottom of my spine and probably sucking marks there. Yeah. I am really fucking desparate for it.</p><p>"Harry, I'm not going to--<em>God</em>, just like that." </p><p>"Just like this?" He asks, jamming a third finger alongside the other two during the next thrust. It catches me off guard and nearly makes me lose balance, and at this point I'm not sure whether to keep fucking back on his fingers or fucking up into his fist. Either way, I'm a goner. </p><p>"Just like that. You're so good with your fingers." </p><p>"So I've been told." </p><p>For some reason, the hot jealously running through my veins that moment finishes me off somewhere in between the mental image of Harry's fingers deep inside of another man's ass and the fact that it's my turn now.</p><p>I come hard over his fist and my stomach, pressing my forehead harshly into the wall in front of me while I'm trying to remember how to breathe. He doesn't exactly have mercy either, as he keeps jerking me off through it, milking every last drop out of me until his thrusts slow, and he's carefully pulling out his fingers. </p><p>I feel his lips on my back next, broad licks up my ear. "You sound hot when you come." </p><p>A smile falls over my face as his hands run up my sides, grazing over the sensitive skin of my lower stomach. "Let me return the favor?" </p><p>He shakes his head. "That was me making up for that horrible time I denied you in my office. You'll have plenty of time later to return the favor." </p><p>Then his hands are off of me, reaching around me once more to grab at the glass bottle of shampoo on the shelf. </p><p>Just like nothing even happened. </p><p>***</p><p>"Worthless!" Vivian shouts, throwing the measuring tape down onto the ground. "Absolutely worthless." </p><p>I look in the mirror, sharing a glance with Harry behind me and in front of his own. He makes a circular gesture over his temple and points to Vivian. I have to lift my hand to my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud. </p><p>"I told you not to move, Mr. Tomlinson, and what do you do?" </p><p>My facial expression falls back to an attempt at being serious, standing up straighter and dropping my arms down next to me. "Yes, ma'am, sorry." </p><p>"Has Robert given you strife?" Harry asks, and I'm jealous that he didn't need Vivian in here to do anything for him at all. His suit was already perfectly tailored, and all he needed to do was decide what tie color to wear.</p><p>He chose navy to match me. </p><p>"He's just getting old," Vivian sighs, tugging aggressively at the suit jacket. Robert must be the tailor. Noted. "He needs to get his eyesight check. There should be no reason why I have to make any adjustments." </p><p>She gets down on her knees, adjusting the waistline and sticking in a needle through the fabric that pokes me straight on my skin.</p><p>"Ow?" </p><p>"Sorry, Mr. Tomlinson," she says like she means it and then does it again. I laugh out of the randomness of the pain, leaning my weight on the other foot instinctively to get away. "Where do you think you're going?" </p><p>"Stop poking me then!" </p><p>
  <em>"The joke around town is how you treat us like pin cushions," an older woman laughs inside of our living room, standing facing me and my sisters while my mom adjusts the lace around her bust. "Isn't that right, girls?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My sister Lottie stands up to help mom with the thread, smiling gently at the woman in the mirror. "I have to say it's true, mom. You are very stick and poke." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I know, I know," she waves her off, finishing the last of the adjustment and standing up slowly. "There! All done."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The woman turns to the side to look at the new sizing, smiling brightly when she takes herself in. This was always my favorite part of watching my mom work--the sheer joy on her customers whenever she finished tailoring their clothes perfectly to show off all of the right features. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There's something to be said about properly fitting clothes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My mom turns her head back towards us, and I almost think she's going to talk to me until she giggles, brushing a hand through the air. "Stop it, dad. You know that I've never been the best with gentle needling." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The room falls silent, all of us looking at each other and avoiding looking at her. This has happened before--the talking to someone who isn't even there, the laughing to herself in an empty room, the confused look she gives us when she realizes we're all staring. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lottie distracts our youngest sisters by asking them to help clean up the mess, and I casually ask mom if she wants me to grab her some water. She says yes. She always says yes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That night, I wait until everyone's asleep to knock on the door of my father's study. He tells me to come in, and I find him sitting with the chair turned the door, face forward and staring at the bookcase in front of him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He knows what I'm there for without me saying a word. "Is this about your mother?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yeah," I breathe out, shutting the door quietly behind me so I don't wake anyone up. "It happened again." </em>
</p><p>"Are you alright, darling?" Vivian asks me, stepping back and looking at me in the mirror with a concerned look on her face. "You've gone pale." </p><p>That catches Harry's attention, and I catch his glare in our direction while he stops adjusting his suit. </p><p>"I think I just need some air," I say as calmly as possible. "Excuse me." </p><p>I fumble for my bag in Harry's bedroom, pulling things out of it to find a pill, a little bit of leftover coke, a fucking flask that I forgot to take out or something, and I come up empty. My hands are shaking by the time I'm done, and I look around to find an out and all I do is realize there's a door attached to his room that leads out to a balcony and there's only one thing left for me to do.</p><p>The concrete is cold underneath of my bare feet, and I pace over to the edge of the balcony overlooking the river and the rest of the city with a phone pressed to my ear. </p><p>"It's been weeks," Lottie says when she picks up the other line, sparing me the politeness of a simple hello. </p><p>"I know," I nod to myself, pressing my hand to my forehead. "I know, and I'm sorry. I have the money to send, I just--How is she?" </p><p>"Not any better since the last time you called." </p><p>"But not any worse?" </p><p>"Not any worse," Lottie sighs, and I can tell by the sounds of it she's inside the hospital. </p><p>"How are the twins?" </p><p>"Fine. I try to keep them occupied." A beat passes. "You should come to visit, Lou." </p><p>"I know." I know. </p><p>The conversation's short, ending on a solemn note of I really, really get my ass back home and visit, and I'm left to stare forward and figure out what the hell to do next. </p><p>I hear a door open behind me, and I bow my head. "I know, I know, Vivian. We don't have that much time, and the suit needs finishing." </p><p>"Are you okay?" Oh. Harry. "You did look pale back there..." </p><p>"I'm fine," I say, trying to convince myself of it while I'm gripping the railing with whitening knuckles and swallowing down the lump in my throat that's two seconds away from sending me into a fit of tears. "I'm fine. I just needed to step away for a second." </p><p>"If Vivian's too intense for you--" </p><p>"It's not Vivian," I cut him off with a firm shake of my head. "It's my mom." </p><p>"Oh." Yeah. <em>Oh</em>. "I'm not good with--" </p><p>"It's fine," I cut him off again. "I don't expect that from you. Just an investment, remember? Don't need to fret about it." </p><p>He opens his mouth like he's going to speak when I turn to face him and then ultimately says nothing. </p><p>I tell myself it's better that way. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>they go to the art gala and louis finds out some stuff! </p><p>(the nick in reference is nick grimshaw btw)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1000 hits!!! that's actually insane and i can't thank you enough </p><p>but i'll still say it </p><p>thank you one million times</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I taught myself to expect the unexpected a long time ago. </p><p>This moment is no different. </p><p>Despite living in New York City for going on five years, I've never set foot in the Met until now. It's beautiful really--tall stone columns, intricate carvings, archways that make you feel like you're on the way to meet royalty. There are people here that don't belong to the gala walking around in regular clothes, casting glances at the fact that we--and others behind us--are walking in clad in designer suits with men with earpieces next to us. </p><p>Yes, I did convince Harry to let Niall and the rest of the staff come today. </p><p>Niall holds open the door for us when we approach a sign that notes our location, and he winks at me when I pass through. I take that as an indirect "thank you." </p><p>Inside of the doors is a large room with stone floors and sporadic gray walls with paintings and sculptures decorated around. A few men and women are walking around in pants suits and butler's uniforms as they carry trays spotted with champagne classes and bites of food probably far more expensive than my grocery bill for the week. I grab a glass off of the tray only when Harry does. I don't understand the etiquette at these sorts of things. </p><p>"Loosen up," he says quietly in my ear, and only then do I notice how tightly I'm holding my body. I feel out of place with an entourage and even more so in what I'm wearing and where I am. All of the people around are dressed like we are, reeking of money and entitlement and pointing at various canvases with splatters of paint on them. I don't even understand modern art. Most of it I end up feeling like I could do myself. </p><p>A small orchestra is off to the side playlist soft music, and as we walk I catch glimmers of conversations from the attending guests--combinations of introductions, and bragging about jobs and kids and houses in the Hamptons, and a long-winded story about a cruise to Greece. Harry shakes hands with some of the man in passing, pressing his palm on shoulders of women who look like they would fall at his feet. </p><p>He's a star here. </p><p>I'm only introduced to a few people as we take our venture to where a small crowd of people are gathered around a man standing on a raised stage. His hand pressing into my lower back while I repeat my name with an outstretched hand becomes routine. They have no questions for me and many for Harry. They're concerned about the decorations in his penthouse, the latest business meeting, if he's spoken to so and so from Rome or so and so from Beijing recently. He hasn't, he tells them, but he's been meaning to get to it. </p><p>Apparently, he's meaning to get to everybody brought to his attention. </p><p>The growing hum of voices grows louder the closer we get to this group at the front of the room, and I press against Harry to ask, "Is he supposed to be important?" </p><p>He smirks like I'm just part of the unknowing masses. "These works are his. He's our host." </p><p>Our host. Harry says it like I'm about to have a Nick Carraway moment, and the crowd will split, and Jay Gatsby will be on the other side with a petticoat and a bowtie and slicked-back hair to call me "old sport." </p><p>Ironically, the crowd does split, murmured voices dropping as they notice Harry. He smiles politely at a few of them, snaking his hand down to slide against the arm of a suit jacket and then into mine. It's a sort of possessiveness that makes me smile and stand up a little straighter. I can handle this if we're a unit instead of free-floating around in this sea of prestige. </p><p>"Harry Styles!" The host booms when he sees us, outstretching his arms above his head and then jumping down onto the floor. The crowd laughs as he spills some of the champagne in his glass over his jacket, but he pays no attention to it. I'm starting to think he doesn't pay much attention to anything. </p><p>He's the least put together out of the crowd and shockingly so considering this is his gala, his work on display. </p><p>"It's been a while," Harry replies, and another man appears with a towel to wipe at his wet suit jacket, replacing his champagne glass with another. The whole time, the man seems to be unaware this is happening like it's a sort of common occurrence to have someone cleaning up his mess. "You're still a drunk, I see."</p><p>The man chuckles drunkenly at that, turning to look at me and rest a hand on my shoulder. "And you're still <em>with guest</em>. Who is this charming specimen with us tonight?" </p><p>Harry's hand breaks from mine to brush the hand off of my shoulder. "This charming specimen is with <em>me</em> tonight. You're always trying to take men away from me." </p><p>"I'm only doing as you taught me." </p><p>"I'm Louis Tomlinson," I cut in sharply, falling into the same routine of outstretching my hand because I'm almost certain that conversation was going to continue and give me information I don't want. </p><p>"Louis Tomlinson," he repeats. "A nice name. Different from your usuals."</p><p>I laugh uncomfortably. His usuals? </p><p>Clearly I'm not going to get out of this subject matter, so I might as well play into it. "I like to consider myself a breath of fresh air."</p><p>"You're definitely pretty," he says, reaching forward with an outstretched palm that Harry subtly moves away from me. </p><p>"He is, isn't he?" </p><p>"Thank you," I interject again. I am right here. No need to talk about me when I can talk for myself. </p><p>"Good manners, too. A lot better than Nathan." </p><p>"Nathan was a long time ago," Harry replies uncomfortably, and that seems to stop whatever train of thought the man had. </p><p>He takes a long drink of his glass, placing it on a passing tray and replacing it with another one. "Well, where are my manners? Thank you both for coming, really. Louis, I know you probably didn't have a choice, but my art is always happy for more eyes." </p><p>Harry speaks before I'm able to. "You've improved drastically since the last I saw you, Nick." </p><p>"The last time you saw me was after the down payment you put on the studio. I had barely gotten started. Only a few paintings." Nick (apparently) takes a sip and then talks through his swallow. "How's your father? I heard he was in town." </p><p>I look over at Harry who's taking his time sipping his drink, and I can read in his body language that he absolutely does not want to answer that question. If there's one thing stripping has taught me, it's how to figure out what people want just by the way they're acting. </p><p>"You know, darling," I start, playing the part. "I think Niall just got back with your coat." I place a hand on his upper arm, squeezing gently. "He's been a little cold recently." </p><p>"That's no fun," Nick pouts. "Should probably get that checked out."</p><p>"I keep him telling him that," I laugh, gently nudging him in that direction. "We'll be sure to stop by on our way out, Nick. It was a pleasure meeting you." </p><p>"Stop by the after-party," he says, lifting a glass to bid us goodbye. I'm lucky he's trashed because there's no way he would've bought that sober. </p><p>Harry stops my pushing him away once we're towards the middle of the room. "What did you do that for?" </p><p>"I didn't exactly think you wanted to talk about your father right now." </p><p>"You don't have to save me."</p><p>"I'm not trying to save you," I say in the same tone he used with me when he claimed I wasn't just a charity case. "How do I know I wasn't trying to save myself? He obviously wanted to touch me--" </p><p>Harry's jaw clenches, and he too places his now empty glass on top of a tray passing by. "Nick likes to take," he explains shortly, "and I wasn't in the mood to let you be the next unknowing victim." </p><p>"I could handle him." He's nothing worse than anyone else I've dealt with in my life. </p><p>Harry smiles, leaning down so his lips are hovering above my ear. "I don't doubt that." </p><p>*** </p><p>The after party is drastically different from the experience at the Met.</p><p>For starters, Harry sent the staff home, deciding to drive us there himself after a few glasses of water and a power nap. (Upon asking if we were going to be late, he told me that there's never an end to Nick's parties.) </p><p>Driving with him without a driver is a drastically different experience than sitting in the passenger seat of the Range Rovers, and I have absolutely no complaints. There's something about him being the one to open the door for me and grabbing my hand to help me out of the low seated black Audi that feels more romantic than it probably should. </p><p>Harry walked in like he owned the place and the way that all of the heads turned towards the door once someone announced that he was finally here made me feel like he just might. Compared to the Met, the room off the entrance had dark red walls, male and female models crawling over each other on the soft looking couches, cocaine and pills and weed and alcohol all flowing like there was no concern in the world. The televisions on random channels around the room along with the soft-lit LED signs around the seemingly continuous bar were the only sources of light. </p><p>I'm partially grateful for that. Not really sure how much I would really want to see. </p><p>We're lead by a couple of skinny girls to the back of the main room, and shoved underneath a curtain of beads to a better lit room containing Nick, two other girls stripped down to their underwear, and three shirtless guys with washboard abs and undone jeans. He's lining up a line of coke across the blonde girl's stomach as she's giggling and playing with the hair of the way too tan brunette she's sitting in between the thighs of. Two of the guys are making out at the other end of the couch and the spare is altering between massaging and kissing at the exposed skin of Nick's neck. </p><p>Harry's words echo through my head. </p><p><em>Nick takes</em>. </p><p>"Is this an after-party or your everyday life?" Harry says after a moment pauses, and Nick waits until he's done snorting (and licking) her stomach to look up. He's wiping at his nose with an index finger, instantly smiling when he sees the two of us. It takes me a second to realize that no one else is back here besides the two of us and it doesn't seem like those two girls will bring anybody else back. Just me and Harry and Nick and these random C-list celebrities back here in some exclusive club. </p><p>"The Styles and Tomlinson duo arrives," Nick smirks at us and then smiles at the girls. "Would you mind moving over to make room for our guests, sweethearts?" </p><p>They're so amazed by him they would probably jump off of the Empire State Building if he asked him to. </p><p>Harry sits down, grabbing at my wrist when I'm about to sit down next to him and pulling me into his lap. I'm surprised, letting out a breathy gasp when my thighs fall down onto his. For balance, I wrap an arm around his shoulder, and for all intents and purposes, I try to fall back into him and <em>relax</em>. </p><p>I'm not hard to read right now. </p><p>"You want something?" Harry asks me, his nose brushing over my throat before he sucks an innocent kiss there. "I can tell you're nervous." </p><p>"Just out of my element." I'm trying not to sigh and let my guard down in front of these random strangers, but he's making it really fucking hard. </p><p>"You want a line?" Nick asks, leaning forward so he can see both of our faces. </p><p>I look at Harry and then look at Nick who looks more than happy to offer up what I can only imagine is the finest cocaine. </p><p>"Fuck yes," I say happily, moving off of Harry's lap to settle in between his legs with my back to him as Nick's dumping the powder onto the table and organizing it for me in a line. He offers me something to use for snorting but I turn him down. </p><p>"Hardcore," Nick says surprisingly, sitting back while I lean forward and do the line. </p><p>It hits my head immediately, the adrenaline starting to pick up in my veins while I settle back against Harry. </p><p>"Feeling better?" </p><p>"I will be once the high sets in." Should be any minute now. I almost ask if he wants something but then remembered he's trying to responsibly drive.</p><p>"Good, baby," he says, and I'm not even sure if he realizes what he just said outside of the comforts of his bedroom sheets. "I'm going to go grab some water." </p><p>"Water?" Nick asks loudly, "Jesus, Styles, have you gone soft?" </p><p>He slides from underneath me, flicking Nick off on the way to the beaded door. </p><p>"He's driving tonight," I answer proudly like that's something worthy of saying out loud. Nick just takes another hit off of the coffee table and wipes away the blood from his nose. </p><p>*** </p><p>I don't know where Harry went. Maybe only five minutes passed but it's starting to feel like five hours and everyone in here save for Nick and I are on the verge of having sex. Nick's barely phased by it, and I get the feeling this is an everyday occurrence for him. </p><p>He's resting with his head back on the couch, arms outstretched on either side of him on the edge. If I didn't see his chest rise and fall, I might think that he's actually dead. </p><p>Maybe he is.</p><p>"How do you know Harry?" I ask without thinking, the curiosity getting the best of me. </p><p>"How do <em>you</em> know Harry?" Nick asks and he doesn't look over at me at all as he talks, eyes firmly closed and limbs not moving a muscle. </p><p>"We met at a club." </p><p>"We met a long time ago. His father hired me as an intern, and Harry was still sharing an office with him. We spent <em>a lot </em>of time together." Now he moves, leaning over so closely I can almost taste the vodka on his breath. "Will you tell me if the sex is still good? I've been absolutely <em>dying </em>to know." </p><p>"You two slept together?" </p><p>Nick laughs, settling back against the couch and tugging at the arms of one of the girls that have since migrated over to sitting next to him. That must be some kind of perverted code for a blow job because she immediately drops to her knees and starts undoing his pants. </p><p>"Oh, we slept together. On and off for a long, long time." I must look jealous because he quickly adds, "There's nothing like that going on between us anymore, Tomlinson, relax. He was more like my mentor anyway." He stops talking while the chick slides his boxers down enough to start mouthing over his cock, and I literally flinch at the sight and try my best to ignore it. "Maybe not my mentor, but he's the reason why I have all of this." </p><p>"Charming." </p><p>"I'm serious," Nick laughs, tossing his head back again in pleasure and digging his hands into the heap of hair in his lap. Where the fuck is Harry? "He bought me my first set of brushes, some canvas, and paint, and then he rented me out a loft and wouldn't let me leave until I created something. Harry's a good guy. He--" he cuts himself off with his own sighs, and I'm still avoiding all contact with what's happening there. "He didn't deserve what I did to him." </p><p>"What did you do to him?" I ask into my palm, hearing more zippers being undone and lines being snorted behind my back. </p><p>"We got into this huge fight one day, and he was--<em>fuck, </em>just like that--he was with this guy, and they were getting kind of serious, but he always wanted me. Was always making excuses and flirting with me. I was drunk, and I went to go stir the pot again with, H, you know, that's what we did: just yell and yell and yell until we realized we were stupid. But he was there and Harry wasn't and I fucked him right there in the office. Harry walked in on us." </p><p>I taught myself a long time ago to expect the unexpected, and I was not expecting that. </p><p>"You did <em>what</em>?" I ask, turning around to look at him. "Why are we--Why did he--? Why are we here?" It's a lost cause. The other girl attached her lips to his, and one of the guys is sliding hands up her sides. </p><p>I leave the moment someone's hands reach out to touch me, shifting through the dark to try and find Harry. </p><p>*** </p><p>"Nick and I talked when you were gone." My body curves up while his lips are working down my body, and I try to reach for him, forgetting that in the haze of lust I agreed to let him fasten me up to the headboard with his tie. </p><p>"What'd you talk about?" He asks while he's caressing my sides, biting at my inner thigh. I'm going to break my neck trying to look down at him but I think the benefit of the view outweighs the risk. </p><p>I whine when he breathes over my cock, lingering there for a second before he's sucking on the other side. "You." </p><p>"Oh." He pulls away, fishing through our clothes on the floor and pulling out my tie. "Let me blindfold you with this." </p><p>I swallow. "Okay." Harry's fast to grab it, crawling back over me to me on the bed until he's on all fours above me, brushing over my bottom lip with his thumb. "Why did we go tonight if he fucked you over like that?" </p><p>Harry shakes his head, sliding his thumb in between my lips until he's dragging it over my tongue. I close my lips around it, swirl my tongue around like I'm giving him the best blowjob of his life. "Nick doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut." Like I do right now apparently. </p><p>"I asked him about it," I admit when he pulls his thumb out and he leans back to straddle my chest. </p><p>"Why would you do that?" </p><p>"Lack of a filter on drugs and curiosity." He's looking over my face like he wants to divulge, and it's honestly quite the sight to see him with his thighs bracketing me in, his hard cock against his stomach while he's holding the tie meant to blindfold me in both of his hands like he's presenting me with a sword. </p><p>Harry starts to take his larger rings off--a telltale sign I'll end up getting fingered sooner than later--and then takes a deep breath. "We went because I made him a promise that I would be there for his first gala. That was his first gala." He holds a finger to my lips when I try to protest that logic. "I don't break my promises." </p><p>Okay. So he doesn't break his promises. He doesn't break his promises even when someone so brutally fucks him over. Must be a better man than me. </p><p>He leans forward to tie the tie around my eyes, his cock brushing against my stomach and teasing me. I suck in air once he fastens it, sensory deprived and listening to him ruffle around.</p><p>Harry's fingers are back on my lips for a moment, pulling them down until I get the hint to open. </p><p>I give him the best blowjob of his life. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>smut lol that's pretty much it</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm still yelling at how many hits this gets &lt;3 but this is dominantly smut hehe i really wanted to give the masses what they want (and what i want too, i just didn't want to crowd the story with it too much) </p><p>also, i never mentioned this but the title of this fic is based off of Lover of Mine by 5SOS that's totally worth a listen if you haven't heard it already. it's on the playlist for this story i linked back a few chapters ;) </p><p>xoxo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So was it Nathan?" </p><p>"Louis," Harry says like it's a warning, legs crossed in the chair in his living room while he's flicking through a magazine. </p><p>"I'm just asking if it was Nathan." </p><p>"You're asking me too many questions." </p><p>"You're the one who invited me for dinner because you were lonely. I have an exam tomorrow, and I was more than happy to sit inside of my bedroom at <em>my </em>apartment and get my shit done." Okay. That might be a lie. Harry's place is dead silent save for the sound of Harry turning pages or the chef in the kitchen cooking us dinner, and that is so much better than listening to Zayn and some other girl go at it to some song with an insanely loud bass line. </p><p>I swear one day he's going to catch something and his dick will fall straight off. </p><p>I couldn't be that lucky. </p><p>"What would it matter if it was Nathan?" </p><p>"Your defensiveness is telling me that it was." </p><p>"My defensiveness isn't telling you anything." </p><p>I laugh to myself at the bantering and give up to go back to actually studying. </p><p>That goes better than expected. I make it through all of my flashcards without messing up any of the details, ace the practice exam, run through a couple of essay questions. Things are shaping up to be just fine, which is good considering I royally fucked up the last exam. </p><p>When I look up and over at Harry, he's in the same position he was when I started just with a different magazine. The black t-shirt he's wearing gives me a clear shot of his neck and the way his fingers curl around the skin to absently scratch there. If I dip a little lower, I can watch that same hand come back down to grip his thigh and admire the way the fabric of his sweatpants stretch over his skin. I think this is the only time I'm overdressed in his presence. </p><p>And not the only time I've ever shut a book to get up and cross the room until I'm standing in front of him, and he's lowering the magazine slowly to meet my gaze. </p><p>"You want to fuck?" I ask like I'd be asking if he's hungry or if the weather is sunny today, and he looks put off by the question but definitely not like he's going to turn it down. </p><p>"You finish your studying?"</p><p>"Like that matters to you." I pluck the magazine out of his hands and toss it on the couch next to him, sliding into his lap. </p><p>"I don't want you to fail." </p><p>"I don't remember your concern about my academics being written inside of the contract," I say, leaning forward to scrap my teeth along the edge of his throat. "This is though." </p><p>Harry inhales sharply, and I feel his body tense at my touch and then relax, his hands drifting down to hold my hips as I straddle him. "Maybe I just invited you over for dinner. It does get lonely in this big penthouse by myself." </p><p>"Let me be the first course then." </p><p>"How should I have you?" He asks, voice raspy as I work on turning him on which is evidently not taking much time at all.  </p><p>I pause to think about it, tapping my finger on my chin. "Tough questions, tough questions, Harry." </p><p>"I'll make this simple for you then." Harry picks me up in one swift motion, nearly knocking the breath out of me when I'm practically tossed over his shoulder. He's apparently stronger than he looks. As he heads for the stairs, he makes sure to call over his shoulder (and right in my fucking <em>ear</em>) to the chef, "Will you page us on the intercom when you're done with dinner, Phillip?" </p><p>"Yes, Mr. Styles!" Phillip calls back, and it's honestly really fucking absurd. </p><p>"That reeks of entitlement." </p><p>"Yeah, well," Harry says breathlessly from carrying me up the stairs and down the hallway to a bedroom I haven't seen before. "I don't think you'll be complaining in approximately," he checks a fake watch on his wrist, "ten minutes." </p><p>"Ten minutes, huh?" I laugh, and then the laughter fades and we keep the eye contact. </p><p>We <em>keep </em>the eye contact. </p><p>It feels a bit like I'm exposed all of a sudden and I'm not even naked yet, and Harry looks like his mind is moving at a mile a minute before he turns away from me, breaking the tension and scooting over to the edge of the bed. </p><p>I take the moments Harry spends digging around in various drawers of the end table to look at the room we're in right now. It's emptier compared to Harry's master suite, but it's just as vast. The California king bed is right in the middle of the room, black end tables on either side with stylish looking lamps. There's a fireplace off to the side--you can have fireplaces in New York City penthouses? News to me--and a small seating area in front of it coupled with a shaggy, modern type grey rug on top of the light wood floor. Art that I've never seen before lines the walls of course, and I swear every room I've been in his place so far has a section dedicated exclusively to a minibar. </p><p>He's always ready for a good time, I suppose. </p><p>"Why aren't we in your bedroom?" I ask, smoothing my hands over the silk bed set underneath of me. </p><p>Harry makes a noise like he found what he was looking for and tosses a bottle of lube next to me. He crawls back over top of me, the cross necklace he's wearing peeking out from under his shirt and dipping down to graze my chin. I reach out and take it between my fingers, waiting for the perfect moment to tug him down against my lips. </p><p>"I've never used some of these rooms before," he admits passively, eyes darting between mine and my lips. "We had sex in almost every room inside of my hotel, so I figured why not do the same here?" </p><p>I can't argue with that, but it also settles in my chest that he's probably lived here for a while. Long enough that he would have different men in and out of these doors, yet <em>I'm</em> the one he chose to break in the other rooms of the house with. I'm flattered, really, and if he didn't look like what he just said makes him a tad bit nervous, I would tell him as such. </p><p>Instead, I take this as my perfect moment. </p><p>Our lips connect in one swift motion, and he's a good kisser, the <em>best </em>kisser, and I'm already melting into the memory foam mattress at the feeling. Harry adjusts so one hand is resting next to my head, and the other one is moving up my sides, drifting over my chest to start working over a button on my shirt. He's not good at this in this position, laughing into my mouth at his uncoordinated fumbling that feels a little more like my first time than it does someone I've had some of the dirtiest sex with. </p><p>That too makes me melt deeper into the mattress. </p><p>I pull away to brush my nose against his, my hand cupping over his. "Let me." </p><p>He nods, exhaling a thank you that I just catch before he's bracketing my head in with both hands as I'm working over the buttons myself. </p><p>I get it off fast, moving to sit up and shove it off my shoulders. He backs away to tug at his t-shirt, and I have to stop myself from drooling as I watch him pull at the bottom and lift it off. He notices, of course, offering me a smirk as he tugs at the drawstring of his sweatpants and then steps off the bed to take them off. </p><p>My lips are mouthing over his half-hard cock straining against the fabric of his boxers before he has the chance to get back on the bed with me. I'm living for the way he's carding a hand through my hair, smiling down at me with those damn dimples that got me here in the first place. </p><p>"You're so pretty like this," he sighs once my fingers pulled his boxers down to his knees, and I wrapped my lips around his cock. I'm good at this, have gotten compliments about my head game and how they can't get out of their heads afterward. Sometimes for days, weeks. </p><p>I take a deep breath, opening up the back of my throat enough for him to slip downwards, only gagging slightly and then pulling off. The smile I give him with spit strung between my lips and the head of his cock and the taste of his precome staining the inside of my mouth must make get to him because he's gripping the back of my head to pull me in for more. I easily oblige, getting a solid rhythm started with my hands and my mouth until he's finally starting to let out little moans above me. </p><p>"You taste good," I say when I pull off to take a breath, and that's not even a lie. It's pleasant unlike some other guys I've been with, and I want more. I crave it. </p><p>So I take him back down my throat again and again until he's pulling me off of him himself. "I want you. <em>Now.</em>" </p><p>The next motions are fast--he steps out of his boxers all of the way, fumbling around for a condom that apparently was not in the same drawer as the lube, and I manage to tear my own clothes off, settling back against the pillows and slicking up two fingers to slide inside of myself because I'm really not sure I have the patience right now to go through with lengthier prep. </p><p>His cheeks go red when he turns around to see me thrusting against my own fingers, his tongue darting out to lick over his lips. "Louis Tomlinson the fucking tease," is all he says as he's bringing the condom packet up to his mouth to tear open with his teeth. I watch him roll it over his cock, grabbing the bottle of lube and generously pouring some over his palm to jerk himself off with a couple of times. "And to think you've sat in your apartment, all alone, digging your head into pillows to muffle the sounds of you doing to this yourself before me." </p><p>I grin, reaching down with my other hand to pull at my cock a few times to relieve the growing pressure settling in my stomach. "I hate to break it to you, but I still do this to myself even during you." </p><p>He's back to towering over me, his hand pulling away my own to line up against me. I know it's going to burn a little more than usual without the prep, and it does. I bear down against the pressure, wiggling to adjust to his size. He's taking his time, pressing in slowly, waiting for me to make a certain move, and then pressing in a little more. </p><p>"What gets you off, baby?" </p><p>"You do." </p><p>"I know I do," he answers cockily, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pushing him forward with the sole of my foot until he's bottomed out. Both of us groan, our lips brushing while he's all the way inside of me and not moving a single inch. "Tell me more. There was a you and others before there was a you and me." </p><p>A <em>you and me</em>. </p><p>It takes me thrusting my hips on him for Harry to get the hint and start moving. He's using slow thrusts at first--ones that make my toes curl and my head toss back and my eyes roll to the back of my head because the smooth glide against my prostate over and over again is almost too much to handle at one time. </p><p>"I like sucking on fingers," I swallow, "and I like being held down, surrendering to the power of the other person, and I like--<em>fuck, </em>Harry--I like to get on my knees in the places they would least expect it and I like it when they shoot their come down my throat because that means I did something right." </p><p>"Jesus, Louis," he groans, sliding a hand up my chest and over my throat until he's holding my jaw in between his thumb and his index finger. "Tell me your favorite positions."</p><p>I lose myself in it for a minute, both hands coming to his back and dragging my nails over the lean muscles back there. It's intoxicating to feel each one of them move as he thrusts, altering the intensity, altering the speed. He's keeping me on my toes--every time I get used to one thing, he starts doing another. Everything's fading out and it's just him and I on this sea of black bed linen in this insanely beautiful space. </p><p>"Being on top is my favorite," I say once I can muster the breath to form words. "I like knowing they have that full view of my body, and I like watching them lose control." </p><p>"What else?" </p><p>"I like being on all fours. Really shows off my ass. It drove me crazy when you did coke off of me a little while back." He smiles at the memory, leaning down to suck over my collarbone. Good. A place that I can cover up for school tomorrow. Maybe not so much with work. "I like this too. I get to mark you up." I punctuate my last words by digging into his back a little harder with my nails. </p><p>He bites down in response, grabbing at my hips. "You want to finish on top?" I nod, working with him to flip us over without him ever slipping out. He adjusts himself against the headboard, resting both of his hands behind his head just like he's watching something on television. "I like this view." </p><p>"Just like? You should love this view," I tease, resting my hands behind me on his shins so he has a crystal clear view. </p><p>It takes me a second to find the same spot, but once it's angled just right, I have no choice but to let out a loud whine up to the ceiling. </p><p>"Feeling good?" He asks below me as he wraps a hand around my already leaking cock. </p><p>"I'm not sure I can put it into words," I laugh pleasurably, looking back and over my shoulder at where he's disappearing and reappearing inside of me. "How is it this good?"</p><p>Harry leans forward after a bit, mouthing absently at my chest and then closing his mouth around a nipple. My entire body shudders, and I have to grip onto his hair for better balance. </p><p>"Didn't add that to your list of things that get you off."</p><p>"It doesn't usually." </p><p>His lips trail over to the next one, swirling his tongue around the bud and then tugging lightly with his teeth. I jerk up into his fist, drowning in how good this feels and feeling the sheen of sweat over both mine and Harry's bodies. "It is right now." </p><p>Yeah, because it's you, I want to say. </p><p>But I don't. </p><p>"Meet me halfway," I pant out, tugging onto the back of his hair so hard I'll be surprised if I'm not pulling it straight out. He does once, twice, and three times before I go almost silent. "I'm so close, I'm so--"</p><p>"Let go for me, Lou," Harry says with a firm voice I want to obey. </p><p>He gives my cock a couple more jerks before I do, falling down onto him as I come hard over his hand. I feel him spill inside of the condom as he's milking me through it, and I think I'm about to have a fucking heart attack. </p><p>We come down with a crash. I pull off of him slowly, collapsing down on my back and watching his ass as he throws the condom away in the attached bathroom. He's at just the perfect view that I can watch him turn to look at his back in the mirror, his fingers tracing over the red lines I know I made. </p><p>"You did a number on my back," he tells me when he starts to pad along the hardwood floor to crawl back in bed with me. </p><p>"You did a number on me," I sigh, pushing him around so I can trace my own fingers along the marks. I really did do a number on him. Those red streaks will probably be there for days until they fade. "I'm sorry if you didn't want that. I didn't ask." </p><p>He shakes his head. "No need. I think it's hot as fuck. Means I'm driving you crazy." </p><p>I stop tracing them when I reach the dip of his lower back, letting him fall back against the sheets with me. "I'll put that on the list of the things that get you off."</p><p>Harry huffs out a breathy chuckle, and then we fall into a comfortable silence as we're trying to digest what the fuck kind of magic that was. My mind is starting to drift off to mundane things--bills, back home, the test tomorrow--when he turns to look at me, propping himself up on an elbow. </p><p>"It was Nathan, by the way." </p><p>"What?" </p><p>"It was Nathan," he repeats. "Nathan was the guy I was with. The one who slept with Nick." </p><p>"Oh." I adjust so I'm looking at him in the same way. He seems like he wants to share, so I don't feel like I'm pressing my luck when I ask, "Were you two really serious?" </p><p>"We were getting there. I thought I loved him, and he just--I don't know what Nick told you, but I walked into my office to meet up with Nate. We had dinner plans, but I was just running a little bit late. My dad was putting me through a lot of hoops to prove that I had what it took to inherit the place once he retired, and that consisted of a lot of business meetings. Not the fun ones, either. The ones that consist of slideshows with graphs on them and sucking up to the people you're in the deal with." He shakes his head like it doesn't matter. "Anyways. I went to get him. Knew he was waiting for me. I walk in and Nick's got him bent over my desk, all of my papers everywhere, Nate's hands are on my keyboard, and they don't even notice I'm there until I say something."</p><p>"Holy shit, Harry." </p><p>"Nate--He didn't even apologize. He didn't stop it when he saw me, and he didn't even apologize. I don't think he really cared that he was betraying me like that. He just did it." He looks away from me, watching his fingers pick up the sheets into little mountains and then drop them back down. "I should've known, really. Nate and Nick always had more in common, and Nate only started paying attention to me after I started making money. I think he stayed with Nick for a while in the fucking studio <em>I </em>rented out for him to do his ridiculous artwork, but I haven't seen or heard from him since." </p><p>He looks back at me, offering a small smile that I return. "I'm sorry that happened to you." </p><p>"It's okay," he shrugs it off and then leans over to plant a firm slap against my ass. "Bring this sweet ass of yours into the shower with me. This en suite has a rainfall feature that's kind of to die for." </p><p>Again, I watch him move off of the bed and towards the bathroom, listen to him hum to himself while he's opening the shower door and turning on the water. </p><p>Just like nothing ever happened. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the beginning of an interesting, beautiful mess</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the delay on this friends! was taking care of some personal business &lt;3 </p><p>plus this is like ?? 4k words so it took a minute! </p><p>per usual, thank u for the reads and the support &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Gi and Kendall’s apartment is smaller than the one they had before this, but that’s what you get when you move deeper into the city.</p><p class="p1">I’ve barely heard Gigi talk about the place which means she absolutely hates it, but honestly? I think it’s charming.</p><p class="p1">They have it nicely decorated with pieces of them, a maintained monotone theme, domestic scraps of Kendall’s drawing tools and drawings littered around the house. Plus, it came with a small balcony, and that’s a luxury in New York City.</p><p class="p1">It’s not very big, of course, but it’s just enough to fit two people on a pair of black iron chairs and a crooked table. Gi probably picked it up at one of those flea markets. She’s always thrifting around.</p><p class="p1">The door slides open right behind my back, and Gigi appears in a light jacket now—winter’s starting to approach, and we both know this will be one of the last times we can enjoy the outdoors like this—and two bottles of beer. She hands me mine and sits down, reaching a hand into the bowl of fruit salad she put out for the two of us.</p><p class="p1">“Kendall settling in at work?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yeah,” she sighs, slouching back in her chair with a mouthful of watermelon. “She’s busy. I barely see her anymore.”</p><p class="p1">“You worried about it?”</p><p class="p1">Gi shakes her head. “No. Not at all. This happens whenever she gets a new position. Just takes her a minute to settle in and figure out a routine.”</p><p class="p1">I smile and reach for a handful of grapes. “I’m happy for you two. You know, Liam and Natalie just got engaged.”</p><p class="p1">Her eyes go wide and her hands shoot up to wave in front of her face. “No, Lou. No, no, no. Congratulations to them but there’s no reason to start talking about the e-word.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s been as long as I’ve known you!” Three whole years.</p><p class="p1">“Annnnd we’re dropping the conversation,” she laughs, grabbing a grape to pop into her mouth and wash down with a sip of beer. “What about you? Where’ve you been lately?”</p><p class="p1">“Nowhere in particular,” I shrug and try to play this off casually. “My apartment, Columbia. Been studying for exams.”</p><p class="p1">“God, Louis, you’re such a fucking bad liar.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not lying!”</p><p class="p1">“What do you call it then?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m just protecting you from things you don’t want to hear.”</p><p class="p1">Gi groans, picking up a handful of grapes and starting to catapult them at rapid speeds in my direction. I can’t help but laugh at the feeling of getting pelted by fruit, holding a hand up to shield myself as I burrow into the chair. “Are you that horny that you went back to sleep with Mr. Gold Rings?”</p><p class="p1">“He’s not that—“</p><p class="p1">“Louis, come on! The arrogance, the entitlement. Do I need to remind you?”</p><p class="p1">“I think those both mean the same thing.”</p><p class="p1">She huffs angrily, narrowing her eyes and pointing her now empty bottle at me. “Say one more condescending thing and this bottle will be next.”</p><p class="p1">I keep my hands up in defense, flinching when she reaches back into the fruit bowl but then realizes she no longer feels the need to machine-gun me with fruit. I settle back into the chair, resting my head in my palm while I focus my attention on the city.</p><p class="p1">The next apartment building is so close I can watch the guy across from us eating ramen while he watches television. Looks like one of those styrofoam cups with the dehydrated corn and peas. Not my favorite. I definitely prefer the packet.</p><p class="p1">“So we’re sleeping together, yes,” I say after a beat pauses as I watch the cars drive by on the street below. Some of them honking, some of them oblivious, all of them looking impatient. “I have it under control.”</p><p class="p1">“Is the sex that good?”</p><p class="p1">“The sex is amazing.” I lean forward like I’m about to share some sort of secret. “His penthouse is unreal, Gi. So much fucking money.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” she snorts, “I bet.” She looks away like she doesn’t want to hear anymore but I give her thirty seconds until she turns back and— “Tell me about the place. Does it have a view into his neighbors’ apartments? You know one time I came out here to smoke and someone was having sex in their living room with the blinds wide open?” Wow. New record.</p><p class="p1">“Nope. Instead he has this balcony fifty stories above the city and off of his bedroom. It’s beautiful. Fireplace in the middle, sleek black stone for flooring.”</p><p class="p1">“You always get the rich ones.”</p><p class="p1">“And the rich ones are not Harry Styles. He makes the rich I would get at the club look poor.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">A private jet is so bad for the environment.</p><p class="p1">So bad that I’m getting inside of one after doing enough of stroking his ego about how insane this is.</p><p class="p1">It’s a quick trip down to Atlanta and back, and I’ve never been so naturally Harry invited me to come along. He’s playing the part of a casual guy with money this morning—Ray-ban sunglasses resting on top of his head, Gucci sweats and a matching hoodie with a pair of white tennis shoes that I’m pretty sure have never seen the light of day until now. He’s sporting his gold rings of course, holding his phone and laptop in one hand and a small leather bag in the other.</p><p class="p1">The sun catches his face when he turns around to make sure I’m behind him and didn’t get lost in the shuffle.</p><p class="p1">Harry’s fucking gorgeous.</p><p class="p1">So is the plane but not as much. He makes the white leather seats pop, the shuffle of the staff walking in behind us less obnoxious. Harry puts his bag in the top part of storage, outstretching a hand for mine. I brought a backpack with some school stuff in it, and he grunts when the bag he thought he could lift with two fingers tugs his arm down.</p><p class="p1">“What did you bring with you?”</p><p class="p1">“A couple books,” I say with a grin. “You handling it there?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine,” he chuckles, grunting again when he lifts it up to put it next to his. “Do you see a chiropractor? I have one who comes to my place a few times a month, and I’d be more than happy to pay him to make sure your back doesn’t break.”</p><p class="p1">“A chef, a stylist, an assistant, a butler, a doorman, a driver, a security guard, a chiropractor—“</p><p class="p1">“I get the point,” he says with a smirk, gesturing for me to sit down next to him. He outstretches a hand to rest on my knee, and I immediately look down at the intimate gesture. We don’t really— “Wait until you find out about my dentist, my doctor, and my trainer.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m surprised you didn’t rent out the floors beneath you and make them into healthcare offices for your personal services.”</p><p class="p1">“Never thought about that actually. Thanks for the idea, Louis Tomlinson.”</p><p class="p1">I roll my eyes, turning to look out the window at the empty tarmac. I’ve never flown anywhere this early let alone in a private jet (or first-class or business class or even economy plus). It’s a different type of feeling knowing where I’m going, the reason why I’m going. He squeezes my knee softly as he’s talking to someone else, and that breaks me out of my thought to look back at his hand contrasting with my black joggers. Do we do this now?</p><p class="p1">“Where’s Niall? He drove us here, so isn’t he coming with?”</p><p class="p1">Harry shakes his head. “Oh no. He has a family. There’s no reason to pull him from that. We have a driver waiting for us in Atlanta from the others anyway.”</p><p class="p1">So he cares about leaving a family. I see. Okay.</p><p class="p1">I let my hand move slowly over my thigh until the tips of my fingers are barely touching the sides of his, hoping for some sort of movement from the plane soon that will involuntarily scoot them forward.</p><p class="p1">He keeps talking some nonsense about the deal he’s about to make that I don’t understand, barely paying attention.</p><p class="p1">Just do it.</p><p class="p1">Right on schedule, the plane starts to jut forward, and the motion does it for me. My palm slides over his, graces the pads of my fingers with the cool metal of his rings, and he notices. Glances down in the middle of his conversation with an amused look on his face and says nothing.</p><p class="p1">I expect him to take his hand away.</p><p class="p1">He leaves it there.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The Four Seasons hotel line always felt like a mystery to me. A mystery that only the most top tier of people would understand as they gathered around glass tables with their expensive wines and overpriced one bite foods to discuss where they'll be staying on their latest venture. </p><p class="p1">Now I can join the crowd to talk about how they absolutely must stay at the Presidental Suite at Four Seasons Atlanta. </p><p class="p1">Gigi and Kendall are going to freak about this. </p><p class="p1">“I’m going to run us a bath,” Harry says, coming up behind me and running his hands down my shoulders and lingering on my hips on his way to the bathroom. I watch him disappear down a hallway and drop my bag on the floor to take in the suite.</p><p class="p1">It’s excessive for only being here for a day and a half, equipped with a full kitchen with granite countertops, a dining room seating eight, and a living room meant for an entire family. How did I even end up here?</p><p class="p1">“This view is gorgeous,” I say to the room knowing that Harry’s still busy in the bathroom preparing a bath.</p><p class="p1">“You like it?” Harry asks with a muffled voice from the running water and an echo that suggests he’s... down a hallway?</p><p class="p1">My curiosity gets the best of me as I peek around the corner of the bathroom wall, and yeah. There’s literally a hallway lined with two large sinks on either side leading back to a beautiful white porcelain tub. It looks like it’s on its own stage and then there’s Harry.</p><p class="p1">Harry with no clothes on and his back turned to me while he’s bent over checking water temperature. I would go up to him just to touch the smoothness of his skin if I wasn’t busy actually admiring.</p><p class="p1">“I like it,” I finally reply, and he turns to face me with a smirk already on his face because he knows I’m not still talking about the view of Atlanta. This one might be better.</p><p class="p1">“I was going to surprise you like this out there, so you blew my cover.”</p><p class="p1">“Did I now?” I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck once he’s close enough for me to do so.</p><p class="p1">“I think,” Harry sighs against my lips, “you should take off these clothes and get in the bath with me.”</p><p class="p1">“I think that’s a great idea.” I smile up at him, quickly kissing his neck before I’m stripping off my clothes. He’s watching me intently, and I’ll admit a blush comes over my cheeks faster than I would like to admit.</p><p class="p1">“You’re blushing like you haven’t done this before,” he notes.</p><p class="p1">I shrug it off, focused on stepping out of my boxers and why do I feel like this moment is any different than any of the others? I met him practically naked and anytime we’re together at some point we’re naked for extended periods of time. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense at all until he steps forward into my space once I’m fully undressed and he hooks a finger under my chin so I look at him and he looks like he’s making a confession without actually saying one.</p><p class="p1">Maybe he isn’t capable of actually saying it.</p><p class="p1">Maybe I have to be the one to remind him that I’m just a receipt.</p><p class="p1">“The water’s going to get cold.”</p><p class="p1">“Right,” he says quietly without looking away.</p><p class="p1">I step into the water slowly, immediately sighing at the feeling of warm water against my muscles. Harry’s directly behind me, holding my hips to stop me from sitting down as he gets down on his knees in the tub.</p><p class="p1">“What are you—“</p><p class="p1">“If there weren’t so many members of my staff on the plane today, I would’ve sucked you off.”</p><p class="p1">“Made me a member of the mile high club?”</p><p class="p1">He nods, licking a wide stripe from the crease my thigh to my belly button and then doing the same on the other side. “Something about the way you sound when I have my lips around your cock," Harry says teasingly, licking his way from my belly button down to where I'm half-hard and taking me into his mouth. </p><p class="p1">I shift in the water, my jaw dropping open to let out a quiet moan. He's good at this, but he's also greedy, wrapping his hand firmly around the base and swallowing me down. He does too much too fast, gagging slightly, but he keeps going, and I'm in no position to tell him to slow down. Instead, I bury a hand into his hair and close my eyes to take this in. </p><p class="p1">I'm in a bathtub in the Four Seasons Atlanta Presidental Suite with Harry Styles on his knees for me and sucking my cock. </p><p class="p1">I don't know it gets much better than this. </p><p class="p1">"Your <em>mouth</em>, Harry, fucking hell." </p><p class="p1">He sucks harder in reply, taking me to the back of his throat and staying there while he swallows a few times. It sends electricity from the tip of my toes to the base of my neck and makes me grip his hair even more aggressively. An audible shift in the water down below makes me open my eyes to watch him, and he looks so concentrated--eyes closed, lips firmly wrapped around me while he works in smooth strokes, a hand wrapped around himself underneath the water as he jerks himself off slowly. </p><p class="p1">It's even hotter to know he's getting off on getting me off. </p><p class="p1">Harry pulls off to teasingly swirl around the tip, licking playfully at the slit already leaking pre-come. I'm trying to catch my breath while he does that, but he's making it impossible. He wraps a hand around my waist and shamelessly grabs an asscheek while he pulls me closer, and I slide right back down his throat. </p><p class="p1">I brace my other hand against the cool marble wall next to me, swallowing loudly and rolling my head back. The amount of sighs and moans and utters of his name I'm lettting out right now has be a new record, and I physically can't comprehend how good this feels right now. </p><p class="p1">"You gonna come, Lou?" He asks breathlessly when he pulls off, replacing his mouth with his fist. It's less pleasure, but still one I'm shamelessly chasing as I thrust forward into his hand. </p><p class="p1">I nod. "Yeah, fuck." </p><p class="p1">"Good," is all he says, putting the tip of my cock on his tongue while he's jerking me off like he wants me to watch myself come in his mouth. That image is too much for me, and I shove his head back on me when I start to come, feeling him suck me through it like that's all he came here to do. </p><p class="p1">Harry stands up after I'm finished, grabbing the back of my head to pull me in for a kiss. I open my mouth for him easily, tasting myself, feeling him slide his tounge against mine, and <em>oh. </em>He never actually swallowed. No, he wanted to do this, wanted to push my own come into my mouth until I'm the one swallowing. I pull off with a gasp, pressing my forehead against his. He's still hard, his cock brushing against my thigh, and there's something so animalistic about this moment that I have to take advantage of. </p><p class="p1">"Let me ride you," I say with the little sense I have left after that orgasm, and he nods frantically, attaching his lips back to mine and pulling me down with him. I straddle his thighs easily, tipping my head back as he kisses over my throat. </p><p class="p1">"There are condoms," he groans against my skin when I start to grind down on him, "on the shelf right behind me. Lube too." </p><p class="p1">I look forward at the promised shelf, smiling at the thought of him sneaking in here to start a bath and strategically place these like he knew we'd end up here eventually. </p><p class="p1">I adjust to reach for them, and he takes the opportunity to suck my nipples. The condom packet nearly slips out of my hand as a result, and I purposely stay there to relish in the moment. Fuck everything is on straight fire. </p><p class="p1">"Here, here, here," I breathe out, handing him the packet. He tears it open with his hands behind me, and I watch from over my shoulder as he tries to roll it on underwater. We both laugh as he fails, needing to shove his hips up so he can put it on dry and then settling back in the tub. </p><p class="p1">"This body," he groans loudly, running a hand up my chest and over my sides while I'm positioning myself back on him. "No lube?" </p><p class="p1">"I can take it." </p><p class="p1">"Of course you can," he grins, crashing his lips against mine while I'm slowly inching my way down on him. </p><p class="p1">We're just starting a nice rhythm when my phone rings. </p><p class="p1">I ignore it, kissing him through it and letting him hold my hands behind my back, and eventually it stops ringing. "God, the way you fill me up." </p><p class="p1">He moans a laugh against my lips, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and biting softly. </p><p class="p1">And my phone rings again. </p><p class="p1">"Do you need to get that?" </p><p class="p1">I shake my head, not wanting to break the moment. "If it's important they'll leave a voicemail." </p><p class="p1">He wraps a hand around my cock, and the combination of the warm water moving along with his fist is driving me insane. I probably won't have much to show for a second orgasm, but it's going to feel so fucking good. </p><p class="p1">And my phone rings again. </p><p class="p1">"Louis--" </p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Mr. Tomlinson," my professor says sternly at the podium in front of me. I look up from my exam with a guilty face and knowing that my phone has been going off for the past five minutes. "Either silence your phone or take the call. Final warning." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I glare at her when she isn't looking and then at my bag, grabbing it violently and stepping out of the room. This better be fucking good because I'm not even halfway down my exam yet and all I can hear is the clock tick-tick-ticking away in the back of my mind. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Lottie's on the caller ID screen, and I roll my eyes thinking this is just her wanting to talk about some useless gossip. She still hasn't memorized my school schedule even my constant reminders. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Damn it, Lottie," I say between gritted teeth when I pick up the phone. "This better be fucking important. I'm in the middle of--" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"It's mom." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>My heart drops and my stomach lurches up to my throat. "It's mom? What do you mean it's mom? Did something happen?" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I realize she's crying, and I look around to find a bench to sit on in case I need to brace for bad news. "She was just talking to grandpa again after lunch in the garden, and I was listening through the window doing the dishes, and I--She stopped talking, and I looked up, and she was on the ground and--" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Did you call 911?" The amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins could send me to space and back. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"I did, I did, but the twins--The twins are crying, and mom is at the hospital, and I can't get ahold of dad at work." She takes a deep breath, voice shaking through the phone. "I'm scared, Lou. Can you come home?" </em>
</p><p class="p1">I need to answer it. </p><p class="p1">Harry says something that I don't hear when I pull off of him, ignoring the ache that gives me and moving out of the bathtub. I don't even put a towel on, dripping water all the way through the long bathroom hallway to sift through my bag in the master suite. </p><p class="p1">I have three missed calls, and as I'm about to check who from, the phone rings again. </p><p class="p1">A picture of Lottie comes up. </p><p class="p1">"Shit," I say under my breath, running a hand through my hair, and I'm shaking. Fuck, I'm shaking a lot. I slide to answer, pressing the phone to my wet ear. "Lots?" </p><p class="p1">"Lou, thank god," she sighs, and she's not crying this time. "Where are you?" </p><p class="p1">"I'm in Atlanta." </p><p class="p1">"Atlanta? Why are you in--" </p><p class="p1">I look over my shoulder at the bathroom, and I can hear that Harry's starting to realize something's going on because the water's draining out of the tub. "It doesn't matter. What's going on?" A pause on the other line. I raise my eyebrows at the phone and asked irritatedly, "Lottie?" </p><p class="p1">She sniffles. Fuck me. "Can you come home?" </p><p class="p1">I know what that means. She says it without saying it, and I feel that same pang of nausea from years ago. How am I going to pull this off? "I'll come home." </p><p class="p1">"It's the same hospital, same everything." </p><p class="p1">"I'll be there," I assure her, nodding to myself. "I'll be there." </p><p class="p1">"I love you, Lou," she says, and she sounds small and afraid and I need to get back home. Right now. </p><p class="p1">"I love you, Lots," I reply. "See you soon." </p><p class="p1">I hang up, throwing the phone on the bed. My entire body kickstarted, and I'm lucky that we've barely unpacked anything because that means I won't have to do much. I unzip my bag to look for clean clothes, and I can feel how tight my chest is getting until I'm bent over gripping the bedsheets because I can't fucking breathe. </p><p class="p1">"Louis?" Harry asks behind me, and he doesn't need to see this. </p><p class="p1">"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just--" Don't cry, Louis. That's not part of the fucking agreement. Don't cry, don't cry, don't--</p><p class="p1">I start crying. Through my tears, I'm trying to pick out the clothes to wear, and my hands are shaking so badly I don't have a firm grasp on anything at all. </p><p class="p1">"Louis," Harry says again, a hand resting on my back. "What just happened? Who called?" </p><p class="p1">I shake my head. This can't actually be happening. I can't actually be getting on a plane to go home to my dying mother in the hospital. I can't actually be getting on a plane to go home to my dying mother in the hospital after I hadn't been for months and Lottie asked me too what feels like weeks ago and I should've listened. I should've--I shouldn't be here in Atlanta, I shouldn't have gone to the gala, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have. </p><p class="p1">"My sister. She just called. It's about my mom. I think she's dying, Harry, and I need to go home." I don't need to look at him to see his surprise. I can feel it coating the entire room. I laugh sadly. "I know you're not good at this, and I don't need you to be. What I need from you is to get me home. I doubt I could get a flight to leave anytime soon, and I can't miss any moment right now. We're already so far away--" </p><p class="p1">"Where's home?" He asks, cutting me off. I stop sobbing and settle into a calm crying, turning to look at him standing behind me with a towel wrapped around his waist and his wet hair dangling in his face. Harry's cell phone is in his palm, and he looks like he's two seconds away from pressing it to his ear. "Where's home, Lou?" </p><p class="p1">"Colorado," I sniffle. "I need to get to the Denver airport. We're not far from there." </p><p class="p1">"Denver airport. Okay." He presses his phone to his ear. Waiting patiently for the other line to answer. "Get dressed, it won't be long," he tells me before he's even spoken to anyone, and I nod helplessly, trying to get it together enough to put on clothes. "Phillip? This is Harry, yes. Can you have the plane ready? Louis and I need to head to Denver. It's a bit of an emergency." Louis and <em>I</em>? In what realm is he coming home with me? "That would be great. No, I don't know when we'll be coming home." A pause. "Thanks, Phillip." A hang up. </p><p class="p1">I pull my t-shirt over my head, drying off with a towel he hands me before putting on my boxers and a pair of jeans. "Why did you--" </p><p class="p1">"I'll call the clients to let them know there's been a change of plans." </p><p class="p1">"Harry--" </p><p class="p1">"They need <em>my </em>money. I have no doubt that they'll be lenient. This is an emergency after all." </p><p class="p1">"<em>Harry</em>--" </p><p class="p1">"Phillip said the plane will be ready in a half-hour. He said it should take about four hours to get there." </p><p class="p1">"Why are you coming with me?" I ask when he starts to head to his bag to his change. He doesn't answer at first, padding his way into the bathroom to start combing through his hair. "Harry, why are you coming with me?" I repeat, stuffing dirty clothes into my bag and sloppily zipping it up. </p><p class="p1">"You think I'm not going to come with you?" He says from the bathroom. "You just asked for my plane." </p><p class="p1">"That doesn't mean you have to come with me," I shoot back a little too defensively. "You're about to seal a business deal--" </p><p class="p1">"They'll wait." </p><p class="p1">"They put you up in this expensive suite and--" </p><p class="p1">"<em>They'll wait,</em> Louis," he repeats more sternly, glaring at me impatiently in the mirror. </p><p class="p1">I'm in no state to keep listing excuses for him to not come with me, to not make me explain what's going on between us to my family when I don't even understand it, to force me to overthink why he would even want to subject himself to this emotional mess when he's not emotionally available unless we're having sex. </p><p class="p1">I throw up my hands in defeat. "Alright. They'll wait." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>lou and harry go to denver... </p><p>angst :)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the way that harry is lowkey kinda frustrating</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I haven't taken my eyes off of the window next to me. I'm just watching the clouds go by, wondering how fast this plane is going, why Harry's next to me flipping through another magazine--where does he get so many?--and both grateful and sad he hasn't said a single thing since we left the hotel a couple of hours ago. </p><p>I should've visited more. </p><p>Columbia was a long shot from the beginning--a twenty-six hour drive, a four and a half hour flight. I drove my first year in the old family van, an eclectic collection of things in the back to take with me to the dorm. No one could come with me. Dad had to work, the girls had school, mom was struggling to get out of bed most mornings. Not because she didn't have the energy either, but because she was so convinced she was talking to my grandfather she was afraid that stepping outside of the bedroom would make him disappear forever. </p><p>They were close, my mom and her father. Her mom died shortly after she was born, and my grandfather was left to learn how to be a single father in a time period where that wasn't common at all. He owned a farm and orchard just outside of Boulder, and he taught my mom how to do the berry picking and eventually how to ride a tractor. Soon they were doing almost everything together. Harvesting, picking, eating, growing, living, breathing. They didn't separate until my mom met my dad, and even then they all temporarily lived together until my parents were able to find a place to start their own family. </p><p>Lottie and I were the only ones who had the chance to meet him before he died. I was young, her even younger, and he would come over with fresh fruits, ask for a cup of tea, sit down with us and tell us stories of the interesting things my mother got to do at our age. </p><p>She was devastated when she got the call from one of the other workers on the farm. It was early in the morning, and they found him peaceful in bed. I still remember how she sounded while she cried, how hard that next year was. </p><p>I don't blame her for not wanting to give up the chance to see and talk to him again. </p><p>"My mom has metastatic melanoma. Stage four." Harry doesn't flip to the next page of his magazine at the same pace he was before I started talking, so I know he's listening even without actually looking at him. "She's had it for a long while, but we didn't know until after my freshman year at Columbia. I was taking an exam. My sister called me and she was sobbing that our mom collapsed outside. She hallucinates things. Mainly my grandfather who passed away when I was about seven or so. That's a symptom. Hallucinations. We just thought it was stress. A phase she would get through. Until she passed out, of course, and the hospital didn't take long to figure it out. Stupid, isn't it? How we downplay everything in our lives?" </p><p>The words sit in the air for what feels like forever before I listen to him set the magazine down somewhere beside his lap. "I don't think it's stupid. I think it's normal to not think anything is wrong." </p><p>"We were in such intense denial that sometimes I blame us for her progressing to the point she did." I close my eyes, remembering how my dad took to it the worst. He locked himself up in his study when he wasn't at work, staring at the wall, out the window, at whatever was in front of him while he tried to wrap his brain around it. I would tell him when something would happen, and he would collect it, file it away in that brain of his. I used to think he wasn't listening until he repeated everything to the doctor. "Nevermind that the doctor said there was no way we would've known. No. It was all our fault." </p><p>"Hindsight is always 20/20." </p><p>"It was right in front of our faces. Right there." I open my eyes to the clouds, closing the blind to the window because suddenly the outside world is too happy. "They said there was a 5% chance of survival. With all of the treatment we're paying for, we've kept her alive for five years." I sigh, burying my face in my hands. "'Kept her alive.' That sounds so sadistic." </p><p>"People need their mother," he says softly, and the tone is enough to make me lift my face and turn to look at him. He's patiently sitting with a leg crossed over the other, his hands folded nicely in his lap. I have to know. </p><p>"Why did you come with me, Harry?" He opens his mouth to start speaking, but I cut him off before he can even start. "I know that it's your plane or whatever, but I'm just trying to figure it out. I didn't ask you to come with me, and you've said it yourself that you're not good at this. We're not in a relationship. A proper one anyway. You don't owe me anything, so just--Why did you come with me?" </p><p>Harry looks pensive, eyebrows furrowed while he stares straight ahead like he's trying to decide if he should answer honestly or not. Right now, on this plane, on the way to see my mom and my family, I surprise myself by wanting an actual answer. Maybe this will be the only time I ever will. </p><p>He opens his mouth, wiping at the corners. "I know what it's like to deal with these situations alone." </p><p>Not exactly what I wanted. "Okay." </p><p>I turn my head back away from him, tracing over the lines on the wall of the plane. He must sense that I need more because he reaches over to rest a hand over top the one I have on my thigh. I don't look down at the connection, and I definitely don't blink away any tears. </p><p>"I know what it's like to deal with these situations alone, and you shouldn't have to. You need your mother, your family needs you, people need people. So yes, we're in my plane, and I walked away from a business deal, and it's all a bit dramatic when you really look at it, but if this would've happened to me, I would've called you to be my plus one." I'm just about to look at him and bask in this moment of honesty when he takes his hand off of mine and his tone changes. "Accompaniment is in the contract." </p><p>Right. The contract. </p><p>*** </p><p>Hospitals are cold. They're bustling with energy, full of good news and bad news, bright lights, and a constant hum of conversation, but they're cold. </p><p>Neither one of us packed expecting to go to Denver, so we're walking in with our hands stuffed deep in pockets, trying to pretend that we know what we're doing. Harry obviously gave the lead to me, but it's bold of him to assume that even with this being my family, I know what to do. </p><p>The truth of the matter is I've never known what to do. </p><p>"Hi," I say warmly to the lady behind a desk despite the chill covering my body. She's obviously busy as she shuffles through papers, clicks frantically on the mouse to her computer. </p><p>"Just a moment," she replies, spinning around to give instructions to another nurse (I assume) and then facing me again. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" </p><p>"I'm here to see Jay Tomlinson. I'm her son." </p><p>"Tomlinson, Tomlinson," the woman repeats to herself, clicking away on the keyboard before looking back up at us. "She'll be on the fourth floor. Room 415." </p><p>I tap on the counter as I tell her thank you, looking back over my shoulder at Harry to follow me who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. He's avoiding eye contact with everyone who walks by including me, and he picks up the pace whenever we need to walk past a room with an open door revealing someone inside. </p><p>We stand in silence waiting for the elevator, and I'm thankful that no one else is in the elevator when the door opens.</p><p>I press the button for the fourth floor, settling into the corner and watching Harry stare down at his feet. </p><p>"You didn't have to come." </p><p>"I'm fine, Louis," he says. </p><p>"Clearly." He's not fooling anyone. I sniffle, my nose filling up with the scent of hospital cleaner. "Look, my sisters are probably going to have a lot of questions at some point. You don't have to answer them." </p><p>"Questions?" </p><p>"I don't normally show up with another man," I confess. "I'll just say we're good friends or something." </p><p>"Good friends," he echos, and there's a hint of something in his voice I can't figure out. Regret? Jealously? Remorse? "Sounds good." The elevator dings, the doors opening, and he holds a hand out for me to go first. "Following your lead." </p><p>So he's said. </p><p>We make it to the room quicker than I'd like, the door open while a nurse inside is changing out a bag of fluids. I avoid looking at my mom at first mainly out of fear. Looking at her will confirm it, make it real. Luckily, Lottie stands up the moment I hit the doorframe with Harry trailing off to the side and just out of eyesight. </p><p>She looks so relieved. "Lou," she says, walking quickly up to me and embracing me in a hug. I hug her back just as tightly, closing my eyes as I breathe her in. I've missed her, I've missed home. </p><p>The twins follow suit, exclaiming my name while they come up behind Lottie and embrace both of us. </p><p>"Hi," I say quietly, trying to make sure I can touch all of them at least once. I shut my eyes tighter, the tears starting to collect at just the idea of being here. "Hi, girls. I've missed you." </p><p>"We've missed you," Lottie replies, pulling away from the hug and resting her hands on my shoulders. "You got here so quickly." </p><p>"I had some help," I say to that, and no one asks me to explain so I don't. I hear Harry shuffle a little bit behind me, and I hold a hand out to stop him from coming into view right now.</p><p>"Who's this?" The nurse asks gently, smiling when she turns around to see the girls crowded around us. "Is this the great big brother you've all been on about today?" </p><p>"The great big brother?" I ask playfully. "I guess that must be me." </p><p>Daisy knocks an elbow in my side, making all of us laugh. </p><p>"She's doing well," the nurse explains, looking over at my mom who I still refuse to look at right now. "Should be waking up here soon, so I'll leave you all to it." Then to Lottie only, "Hit the button if she needs anything." </p><p>"Thank you, Marianne," Lottie says thankfully, smiling sadly at her as she walks out of the room. They all dissipate away from me to settle back into their seats, and on the other side holding my mother's hand is my father. Lottie offers a sympathetic look when I look from him to her, nodding subtly before scooting forward in her chair. "Dad," she starts like she has to walk on eggshells. "Louis is here." </p><p>"Hi, Dad," I add after she's done, walking slowly up behind him to rest a hand on his shoulder. </p><p>He stares straight ahead, and a long pause hangs in the air until he brings up a hand to rest over top of mine, squeezing softly. "I'm happy you could be here." </p><p>"Me too." </p><p>He squeezes one more time and drops his hand, and I need to stop staring at the top of his head. I need to turn just a little to the right and make this a reality or else I never will. </p><p>I sharply inhale once I do. </p><p>The woman on the bed looks nothing like my mother. The drugs and machines sucking the life right out of her. The strips for the heart monitor are peaking from underneath her clothes, and the beeping of the machine comes into earshot. Her hands and arms look bruised outside of the blanket probably from all of the IV pokes--she always was delicate to that sort of thing--and there's one skinny tube leading from the top of her right hand into the bag of fluids the nurse just changed out. </p><p>There's a pastel blue headscarf wrapped around her head, a little bit of the corner falling down to brush against her face, and it's only then that I notice how dark her eyes look, how much weight she's lost from all of the treatment. Yet she's still wearing a necklace we got her for Mother's Day some time ago, still in a white cardigan bunched up at the elbows, and that's the one she always wore with her comfortable silk pajama bottoms that are probably underneath the blanket.</p><p>At least she's not in a hospital gown. </p><p>And she's still beautiful. </p><p>She starts to stir just as the nurse predicted, and all of us lurch forward ever so slightly in anticipation. Her eyes begin to flutter open, her dry pale lips starting to separate as she adjusts to waking up. I smile warmly, reaching a hand out to rest over the top of her leg under all of the blankets and the wires and the smell of utter tragedy. </p><p>"Who's that angel in the doorway?" My mom asks with a hoarse voice and a longing look behind me. </p><p>All of us turn to look at the door, and Harry's there. Just barely, but he's there. He's standing there with a slight slouch, his hands at his sides, a sorrowful look on his face. </p><p>I chuckle without taking my eyes off of him. "I'm not sure that's an angel, mom. Just looks like a man." </p><p>"Would've had me fooled," she smiles. "Looks like an angel to me." </p><p>"Is he with you, Lou?" Lottie asks, and even in the situation, I can tell her lips are twitching upwards into a knowing smile. </p><p>"He's with me," I nod, shooting her a look that keeps her from seeing anything else. "This is Harry." I look over my shoulder, ushering him with a hand gesture. "He's responsible for getting me here so quickly." I lower my voice, wiggling my eyebrows at the twins because I know it'll make them smile. "He has a plane." </p><p>"A plane?" My mom asks, suddenly perking up as much as she can. "Come in here, Harry. Let me get a good look at you." </p><p>He looks nervous to step any closer, and I try to protect him. "Mom, I don't know if--" </p><p>"It's fine, Louis," he says calmly behind me, stepping closer to the bed and kneeling down to be at eye level with my mom. "It's an honor to meet you, Mrs. Tomlinson." </p><p>She reaches her spare hand out for him to take, which he does with such delicacy that my heart picks up in my chest. "Call me Jay, darling." She looks over at me, raising her eyebrows in the same way I just did towards the twins. "He's handsome, Lou. How lucky you are." </p><p>"You have nice hair," Phoebe says, walking over to stand behind him and touch one of the strands. </p><p>"Phoebe--" </p><p>Harry looks up at me quickly, shaking his head no and then looking over his shoulder at my sister. "She's alright, Louis. Touch all you want, sweetheart." She smiles shyly and goes back to running a hand through it while he looks back at my mom. "With all due respect, Jay, I think I'm the lucky one. Your son is quite the man." </p><p>I could scoff at how he's playing the part right now, how he's acting like we're in some kind of romantically charged and healthy relationship. Instead, I also play the part, acting bashful at his words. </p><p>"You hear that, Mark?" She asks my dad, tapping on his hand and nodding her head over at me. "We've raised quite the man." </p><p>"We have, dear," my dad replies sweetly, bringing her hand up to his lips to kiss the top. "Do you need anything?" </p><p>"Maybe one of those brownies downstairs," mom says with a snicker, looking around us to see if there's anyone coming. "Marianne doesn't like to get me the sweets." </p><p>Dad laughs at that, starting to stand up and get out of his chair. </p><p>I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. "Just relax, dad. Harry and I will get it." I look down at him as he's talking to my sisters about something on his phone. "Harry?" </p><p>Lottie gives me another look that tells me exactly how I'm feeling. How he's good with girls, how he's making them smile, how Daisy and Phoebe are melting into him like he's been around all of this time. </p><p>I know, I know. </p><p>I'm royally fucked. </p><p>*** </p><p>"Your family is really nice," Harry mentions casually while he's stuffing his face with a cupcake on the way back up to my mom's room. It's the only time I've ever seen him like a member of the normal public--not poised, wiping at crumbs at the corner of his mouth, wearing something that would pass as clothes bought at a mall. "You seem close." </p><p>"We are close," I nod, rounding the corner and apologizing for nearly bumping into a nurse coming from the opposite direction. "Lottie's only a few years younger than me, and the twins a few years younger than that. We were all close before this happened but, you know, trauma brings everyone closer." </p><p>"Most of the time," Harry adds after a beat, throwing his cupcake wrapper away in a trash can we pass by. </p><p>Most of the time. I guess that's true. It isn't like my dad and I have any better of a relationship now as we did before this happened. We had nothing in common, so we would just talk about the weather, my day, his day, never going into specifics and just naming casualties. Then I was the one letting him know about my mom, and it still didn't change anything. Asking about my day at school was replaced by asking if mom did anything out of the ordinary today. Asking about his day at work was replaced by me knocking on his door to tell him exactly how out of the ordinary something was. Wash, rinse, repeat. </p><p>I press my head against the back of the elevator when we step inside, moving over for another couple to step in alongside us. </p><p>Another couple. </p><p>Did I just...? </p><p>"It's weird to see her like this. She doesn't look like my mom. It's not how I remember her."</p><p>Harry scoots closer to me when another small group of people enters from the next floor. I have to stop myself from resting my head on his shoulder because I'm so fucking exhausted all of a sudden. </p><p>He leans down so his voice just barely carries to anyone else. "I lost my mom too." </p><p>I look up at him, and we're so close we're almost kissing. I swallow, leaning on my shoulder so that my cheek is against the wall. "You did?" </p><p>Harry nods, takes a sip of the coffee he bought downstairs too. "I was young. Barely in high school. It was a major accident on the highway. I found out through the news when I came home to an empty apartment and the cops showed up to ask if someone could properly identify the body. My dad was away on business." </p><p>"Did he come home?" </p><p>"Not until the trip was over." Another sip of coffee. "I don't remember her as the woman I saw when they peeled off the plastic. She's still the woman who made me toast and eggs before school that morning." </p><p>"I'm sorry," I say, looking down at his lips, wanting to lean in and embrace him, comfort him. I know he's trying to comfort me, but something tells me he's never had that before, and something tells me he's never totally felt the grief. </p><p>He looks away. "Thanks, but it's over now." </p><p>I keep looking at him even when his eyes are forward, wondering how it's possible to have him so close and then so far away like he's just giving me an inch in hopes I'll want the mile.</p><p>I don't even hear the ding for our floor until Harry's pressing a hand into the small of my back to nudge me forward.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>louis and his mom talk, harry and louis talk, the usual</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i wrote this to roslyn by bon iver and heal by tom odell so take that as you will </p><p>(also, to the tune of unwritten by natasha bedingfield, "so close [we] can almost taste it")</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hours pass before a doctor comes in to evaluate progress, scribbling things down in his notes as he bombards my parents with questions. He nods when he finishes, looking over at my father with a look on his face that makes me sick to my stomach. Harry's arm outstretches to run over my upper back, squeezing gently at my shoulders when he notices I'm starting to tense up, and I'm not sure if that's for my sake or for the twins who are trying to talk my ear off while I'm trying to listen. I look at him in acknowledgment, putting a smile back on and trying to keep up with the story Daisy tells me about her friends at school as Phoebe is asking Harry questions about the tattoos on his arms. Lottie's sitting opposite my dad, listening and nodding along. </p><p>She's taken my role and is doing it well. </p><p>I catch the doctor asking my father if he would like to step out to talk with him, and he nods. I stop the conversation with Daisy, and Lottie turns around to look at me while she's getting out of the chair herself. </p><p>"Lou?" </p><p>"I'll come," I nod, standing up and then pausing at the door to look at Harry now in conversation with both of the twins. "Will you be okay?" </p><p>He smiles, putting both of his arms up against the back of the couch in the room so they could scoot closer and look at something on his phone. "I can handle them. Go." </p><p>I tap on the doorframe in response, following the three of them down the hall and into a separate room off of the hallway. </p><p>The doctor sits across from us, crossing his legs and looking down at the paperwork in his hand. Nothing can come of this if we're speaking directly to the doctor. </p><p>He takes his glasses off to rest on top of his head. "Mr. Tomlinson, we've done everything that we could. The cancer is progressing too quickly, and she's no longer responding to the treatments in the way that we'd hope. The best we could do is try to make her comfortable." </p><p>My father says nothing, folding his elbows on his knees and pressing his face into his open palms. Lottie wraps a hand over his shoulders, rubbing softly on his back. </p><p>"What do you mean no longer responding to treatments?" I ask, looking from my father and sister to the doctor. "This--We've heard this before, and we just changed treatments. Is there anything else we can do? What about surgery? They went in once and they could do it again, right? They could do it again?" </p><p>"Mr. Tomlinson," the doctor begins and this time he's talking straight to me instead of my father. "We removed what we could of the tumor and she's been going through treatment but--" </p><p>I stand up, running a hand through my hair and start pacing around the small room. Lottie reaches a hand out of me that I refuse with a firm head shake. "No. There has to be something else. I don't care how much it costs, I have money saved up, I have--" Harry, but I don't say that out loud. </p><p>"Louis, we're already working through hundreds of thousands in debt just for the treatment," Dad says through his palms. "That doesn't even include the cost of her staying in the hospital as she has been for months." </p><p>"Money doesn't matter. Let me worry about the money. There just has to be something. Tell me there's something." </p><p>"Mr. Tomlinson," the doctor says again, standing up to place a soothing hand on my shoulder. "The tumor is regrowing, and she's too weak for another surgery. Plus, with all of the side effects from the IL-2, we're probably doing more harm than good at this point." </p><p>"You have to do something," I respond sternly, shoving his hand off of me. </p><p>Lottie's arm replaces his. "Louis, listen to him. There's nothing we can do."</p><p>"There's always something we can do, there has to be something we can do. What are the experimental treatments left?" I look at the doctor. "Can you get the booklet with the experimental treatments again? We can go through them. There has to be one. There has to be." I pause to think, snapping my fingers when I remember some of the ones we've talked about before. "What about stem cells? The T-cell treatment?" </p><p>The doctor shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but they would likely only hurt her in the end. The IL-2 made her extremely weak. Her body won't survive any additional surgeries and won't be able to withstand treatments. We could keep her on the IL-2, but the best route is likely just to take her off treatment entirely and let it run its course." </p><p>"This is absurd." I sound crazy, and I know that. I can see it written on Lottie's face as she's trying to push me back down to sit on the chair next to her. </p><p>"Louis, we've done everything," she offers me softly, coaxing me until I'm catching my breath enough to sit down. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and I'm trying to blink them back as much as possible. My body needs to get rid of the energy, so I start bouncing my leg at a mile a minute, my heart pounding in my chest. </p><p>"How long then? How long until we lose her?" </p><p>"We're not entirely sure of the exact numbers. Some patients last months, some weeks, some barely through the next week." </p><p>"The next <em>week</em>?" That's sooner than I thought. I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready for any of this. It shouldn't be happening, I shouldn't be sitting here right now having this conversation. </p><p>The doctor ignores my question, looking over instead at Lottie and our father probably because he knows they can handle the news and I obviously can't. "If you all have engagements to get back to, I would recommend doing that. While you're more than welcome to stay at the hospital, a lot of people find solace in returning back to work or school in the interim. We'll check on her every hour of each day, and we'd know likely hours before it happens--"</p><p>"Hours?" I ask, panic settling into my bones. "It'll take me hours to get back home from New York." </p><p>"Louis, it might be better that way," my father says, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "You heard him." </p><p>"We'll let you know when it's near the end, so you all could come back during the final stage. Most of our melanoma patients pass quietly. We'll do our best to ensure it's the same for your mother, your wife."</p><p>I feel so helpless like I'm screaming deep underwater and in the middle of the ocean. My lungs are curling up on themselves, leaving me breathless and burning from the inside out.  "No. No, I'll stay. I'll get a deferment for this semester on emergency leave, and I'll tell work the circumstances. I've missed so much time now that I should be the one that stays here through this. You two should go." </p><p>Her doctor stands up from the chair, offering a hand to my father that he firmly shakes, and then smiling sympathetically down to us. "If you have any other additional questions, please let us know. I'm truly sorry." </p><p>I stare at him as he walks out, Lottie's hand still moving on my back. "It's okay," she says quietly, placing a kiss into my hair and resting my head on her shoulders. It shouldn't be like this either. I should be consoling her, I should be holding her. I'm her big brother. The one who's supposed to have it all together but instead I don't even know how to begin to cope with this. "It's okay, Lou. You've done everything you can." </p><p>***</p><p>Walking towards the door of my mother's hospital room feels like a movie sequence. </p><p>I have tunnel vision, the rest of the bustle of the hospital blurred out in curved shapes, the voices of my father and Lottie combining together and hitting my ear with distorted sounds. I can't hear them. I have no idea what they're telling me, and their touches to my shoulder, my back, my arm all feel like they're going right through me. The entire world is in slow motion, and I get to the doorframe of the room, and it goes even slower. </p><p>My mom's eyes are closed as she's lying in the bed, the hum of the machines the only source of noise in the room. The twins have stopped talking Harry's ear off and have settled for looking at her instead. His arms are still wrapped around their shoulders, and he looks over towards the door when he sees us. Lottie and my father brush past me without asking me to move, and Lottie bends down to tell the twins something about needing to leave me alone with mom. </p><p>They all stand up slowly, each of them walking by me and whispering words that I perceive as static sounding encouragement. I think I smile thankfully at them but I'm not really sure. </p><p>Harry stands up, too, and I don't process where he is until he's right in front of me, blocking the view I have of my mom. Somehow that helps. Somehow the world goes back to normal and it all settles at once into the normal loud, sensory overloaded life. </p><p>"Hey," Harry whispers, hooking a finger underneath my chin. I look up without him having to apply much pressure. "I'm not going to ask you if you're okay because you're clearly not, but I am going to ask you where you want me." I stare into his eyes in a desperate attempt to figure out the answer to that question, to ground myself. "Louis?" </p><p>I open my mouth, tongue wetting my lips that are cripplingly dry. "I think that I should have time alone with her." </p><p>"Okay," he nods, offering me a small, closed-mouth smile. "Your family is heading down to the cafeteria to get coffee, and I go for some more, too, so I'll just go with them." </p><p>"Okay," I nod too, swallowing back the lump in my throat. </p><p>I don't expect him to kiss me when he does, and I don't expect him to linger there after, either. I keep my eyes closed after he pulls away from me, also brushing past me to catch up with my family. </p><p>When I do open my eyes, I find my mom with her eyes open now too, smiling sweetly at me like she just caught me in the middle of the act. </p><p>Wake up, Louis. </p><p>"You two are adorable," she says with a raspy voice, reaching for a water bottle on a tray next to her bed. I lurch forward to hold it for her so she doesn't have to strain. "Where'd you two meet?" </p><p>"At work," I answer simply. They don't know what I do for money, and though I'm not ashamed I plan on keeping it that way. They have this image of me as their posterchild law school son, and not the kind of law student who strips at high-end clubs to pay for this and medical bills and, and surely not the kind of law student who takes drugs as a hobby and lost nearly all of his senior year to a growing cocaine dependency (and still graduated with a 3.94, if I may add). </p><p>"Does he work with you?" </p><p>"He was a client," I say, sitting down on an open spot at the edge of the bed and smoothing the blanket underneath my hands. At least that isn't a complete lie. In fact, it's not a lie at all. "I'm going to stay here while Dad and the girls go home." </p><p>"Louis--" She starts, and she sounds like a mother even like this, even now. </p><p>I still cut her off just like a son even like this, even now. "Mom, you need someone to be by your side through this. They've been here long enough. It should be my turn now. I've gotten off easy these past years--" </p><p>"You have not gotten off easy, my love," she says with a firm roll of her eyes that looks like it took up much of her strength but she'd probably do it again if she could. "You work the hardest out of all of us, and don't think that I don't know what you've done for the family. Your father's salary is not nearly enough to cover what he's covered, and none of your sisters are working." </p><p>Lottie should be, but that's nothing to get into now. "You shouldn't be worried about that." </p><p>"Who said I was worried?" She grins. "It won't fall on me in the end." </p><p>So she still kept her humor. I laugh, the tears that I thought I buried deep enough returning to my eyes as I blink up at the sharp LED lights of the hospital room. </p><p>"You're terrible." </p><p>"I have to make jokes around here or else I'll go insane." She holds up her arms full of bruises and IVs, jiggling them around. "All of these wires and poking needles and nurses coming in and out of here to ask questions and adjust things..." Her voice trails off, and I feel her adjusting to sit up straighter in bed. "Louis Tomlinson, give me your hand. Don't start crying on me now." </p><p>I sniffle, taking a second to breathe before turning to give her my hand. The warmth of her touch is just like it was before any of this happened and I used to hold her hand crossing the street on the way to the bus stop or when we watched something scary on television or when she needed help stepping out of the car. </p><p>"I'm sorry," I breathe out shakily. </p><p>"Your father and Lots can be so terribly depressing sometimes. It really brings the mood down. Plus, you know the twins are so absorbed in their own world that I don't know what they're on about half of the time. Sometimes I just pretend to be asleep." She winks, placing her other hand over top of mine so I'm sandwiched in between both of her palms. "You're going to go back to New York, sweetheart." </p><p>"Mom--" </p><p>She shakes her head. "There's no arguing. A hospital bed or not, I'm still your mother, and I'm telling you to go back to New York." </p><p>"Mom, you aren't in good shape. The doctor--"</p><p>"Nevermind what the doctor said. You're going back home or back to wherever you and that charming boyfriend of yours came from that you don't have proper Colorado clothes." </p><p>"He isn't my boyfriend," I correct in the way that says I really don't talk about this with my mother. </p><p>"Well, whatever he is," she says in the way that says she really doesn't care what I don't want to talk about. "For not being your boyfriend, he's awfully good for coming with you into all of this. This isn't exactly meeting your parents at Thanksgiving." </p><p>"Life isn't always pretty." </p><p>"Your life will be." Mom searches my eyes as she speaks, probably looking for the same spark she saw in me the moment I sat them down at the kitchen table and told them I got into Columbia and would be heading to New York City. It's still in there somewhere, and she's the only one I trust to find it. She always brings out the best in me. "You just have to leave this hospital to live it." </p><p>"You're really asking me to go?" I ask just for clarification that this is really happening. </p><p>"I'm not asking, darling. I'm telling you to go." </p><p>I let go of her hand to stand up from the bed, walking over to where her head is to place a kiss on her forehead. I pull away slowly, wanting to savor every bit of this moment in case I never get anyone like it. "I love you, Mom." </p><p>"I love you too, Louis. That's why I need you to make me proud." </p><p>***</p><p>After some arguing, my mom settled on letting me at least stay for the weekend. </p><p>Harry had no issues with this. In fact, he went as far as renting out a cabin for the two of us nearby so we wouldn't have to sleep in the hospital. </p><p>He's currently in the shower somewhere in the maze of rooms behind me while I'm sitting out on the deck, letting the snow come down around me. We're still without jackets--Harry is having some shipped overnight that will be here in the morning--so I'm in a few layers of random clothes and a blanket over my shoulders. It doesn't feel as cold as it should for this time of year in Denver. </p><p>What I wouldn't give to wake up and think that isn't actually happening. </p><p>How old do you have to be before things like this stop feeling like they shouldn't be? I'm twenty-five. I should be comfortable with the idea of death, I should understand the unforgiving nature of cancer especially when it's been five years that should've never existed in the first place.</p><p>When they said five percent, I just figured that she would beat the odds. They're just numbers after all, right? Plenty of people who shouldn't live actually keep living, and my mom? God, she's done so much good in her life. She should easily fall into the realm of those who deserve another shot. She should be back inside of our house sewing up knots and buttons for her clients while we're at the kitchen table doing our homework. She should be peeking around the corner while I'm making lunch after school to tell me that the guy she's working on is awfully handsome, and I should probably come to check him out. </p><p>"Lou, it's freezing out here," Harry calls from behind me, and I see from the shadow of the light against the snow that he's standing in the doorway. </p><p>"It's not that bad." </p><p>"It's not that bad," he scoffs, and then the door shuts and I hear him padding out in the snow. He's not at all dressed for it when he sits down next to me--some sneakers on with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. His teeth are already shivering and it's barely been a minute. </p><p>I scoot closer to him, grabbing the edge of the blanket and throwing it over his shoulders too. "Here." </p><p>He mumbles thanks, pressing his arm against mine as he fends for more wool fabric. "The water pressure is beautiful in that shower." </p><p>"I'm sure. There's barely anyone around." </p><p>"That's true. It's quiet." </p><p>I nod, blowing out air just to see my own breath. "I didn't like that about it when I was growing up. That's how I ended up in New York City. Columbia's a good school, too, of course, but I only applied to law schools in big cities. Now I can appreciate the quiet." </p><p>"It's a bit weird," he says, shaking next to me. It's a little humorous compared to the rest of today's events. "I've never had quiet a day in my life." </p><p>"I can't imagine you would've." </p><p>"Why not?" </p><p>"Getting the business from your father and all, I figured you've always lived a lavish life with servants and drivers and doormen and businessmen fighting in your ear about where to put the money." </p><p>He chuckles with his whole body. "That's true. My mom always tried to shield it from it." </p><p>"Did it work?" </p><p>"Fuck no. My father had way too much pull and little respect." Harry looks down on me with eyelashes full of little snowflakes. I have to suppress my urge to reach over and brush them away. "You're lucky to have the family that you do." </p><p>"Thanks," I say with a half-smile. "Do you have any siblings?" </p><p>"I have an older sister. Gemma." </p><p>"Are you two close?" </p><p>"We used to be when we were younger. Then she grew up and didn't want anything to do with my father's business and left for Italy. She's part of the fashion industry now. A famous designer. We don't speak." I can tell by the way he speaks mechanically about it. </p><p>"Did you want anything to do with your father's business?" </p><p>"Someone has to carry on the legacy." Harry looks away from me, and I watch his chest rise as he dramatically inhales. "Do you mind if we go inside? I can't feel my fingers anymore." </p><p>"I'll meet you inside." </p><p>He squeezes my knee, shifting the blanket back over my shoulders and getting up to go back inside. I watch his shadow in the snow until the door closes, and it's just me. </p><p>I feel his absence more than I would like, and I find myself aching to go inside and get into bed with him and let him carry me into oblivion. </p><p>Harry fucking Styles. </p><p>What the hell am I doing? </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a little spice, a little drugs, a little mental breakdown</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The Moment... it's coming</p><p>(also tw for brief brief discussion of throwing up)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I wake up to the sun beating down into the room, pouring in through the curtainless windows directly above us. My eyes open too quickly at the feeling of growing morning warmth and immediately shut after being nearly blinded.</p><p class="p1">It takes me roughly two and a half minutes of being half-awake to remember what happened yesterday.</p><p class="p1">It takes me another minute to realize that I’m not at home, and I don’t have a dresser drawer to pry open to grab a bag of coke and snort it all away.</p><p class="p1">That makes my stomach ache, makes me restless. I roll around a few times and luckily Harry is in a deep sleep with his back turned to me and doesn’t even notice.</p><p class="p1">Maybe it’s a good thing that we aren’t staying for longer than the weekend and my mom convinced me to go home.</p><p class="p1">I really, really need a bump.</p><p class="p1">I get up after a few more minutes of convincing myself I can fall back asleep to head to the bathroom. Harry has all of our things placed meticulously on the countertop, and I’m careful not to disturb the order when I pick up a toothbrush to start brushing my teeth.</p><p class="p1">The reflection staring back at me in the mirror looks so utterly drained it’s disgusting—shirtless, hair matted down onto my forehead, bags under my eyes, and the toothpaste falling out of the corner of my mouth.</p><p class="p1">Harry snores suddenly, and my reflection shifts to look in the direction of the noise. He looks like the exact opposite of me, and I wonder how he does it, how he’s somehow lying on his stomach with both hands gripping the pillow and yet he still looks like he groomed sometime between us falling asleep together and me looking at him now.</p><p class="p1">He’s better than me, I think.</p><p class="p1">I crawl back into bed after walking through my morning ritual, trying my best not to wake him. I figure after all of that in the bathroom he’s not bound to stir at feeling a dip in bed, but he does, gasping softly like someone just jumped out from a dark corner to scare him.</p><p class="p1">“It’s just me,” I tell him soothingly, collapsing backward on the pillow.</p><p class="p1">“Just you,” he soothes himself, but it’s the way he says ‘you’ that makes me feel warm on the inside.</p><p class="p1">I don’t have the cocaine but I have him right in reach.</p><p class="p1">I roll over to brush my hand over his bare shoulder, starting a soothing up-down pattern that makes him hum contently. I guess him being half asleep makes him soft.</p><p class="p1">“You look good in the morning,” I say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and working my way down at a weird angle until I’m on his neck, sucking softly and slowly until he’s breathing out a laugh.</p><p class="p1">“You need to shave.”</p><p class="p1">“I just shaved a few days ago.”</p><p class="p1">“Then you need to do a better job.”</p><p class="p1">That earns him a jab in the shoulder that makes him roll over onto his back. I cross my arms in front of me and turn my back towards him as a sign of joking defensiveness, but he beats me to the punch by wrapping his arms around me and pulling me back towards him. </p><p class="p1">We both collapse in a fit of laughter as we try to find each other's lips amongst the sheets and the heavy limbs and once we settle I realize that I'm straddling his thighs, my hands holding his down on either side of his head. The silence around us feels a lot more silent, and Harry's smile starts to fade. </p><p class="p1">I swallow, taking advantage of the fact that he hasn't kicked me off of him yet to move my hands to intertwine with his. That makes him sink deeper into the mattress and my hips slide up against his. The air's thick and starting to suffocate me, and Harry's chest starts rising and falling a little faster in a way that tells me that he feels that way too. </p><p class="p1">If I kiss him right now, this becomes a Nicholas Sparks moment. </p><p class="p1">If I don't kiss him right now, I look like a fool. </p><p class="p1">My life is already going to shit, so what do I have to lose right now? Batter up. </p><p class="p1">"You're bracketing me in, Louis," he says without taking his eyes off of me in that kind of tone that tells me I better takes my hands off yet he doesn't move at all. </p><p class="p1">I look between his lips and his eyes, my tongue darting out to wet mine in a partial push to myself to just lean down and <em>kiss him</em>, but I don't. My hips roll aimlessly against his, and we're both already hard, already ready, and I can ask this next question because it serves two purposes and maybe he won't pick up on the main one. "Do you feel that?" </p><p class="p1">Now he fights against my grasp. </p><p class="p1">He picked up on the main one. </p><p class="p1">"You're bracketing me in," Harry says between gritted teeth, and he's stronger than me so it doesn't take much for him to shift us so he's the one on top holding my hands down beside my head. </p><p class="p1">In the end, the position changes nothing. I blink up at him innocently while I'm arching up to get more friction and his grip on my wrists is so fucking <em>tight</em>. "Harry, come on. Do you--" </p><p class="p1">"Hands above your head," he commands and lets go. I obey him, wrapping my hands around the cold iron above my head. He's watching me with dark eyes while he's undoing the drawstring on his pants and shoving them down and out of the way. He didn't wear boxers last night apparently because his cock immediately bounces up to hit his stomach. </p><p class="p1">I know what's going to happen before it even happens as he scoots forward until his knees are on either side of my shoulders, one hand grabbing my jaw between his thumb and his index finger, and the other one floating behind his back and cupping my hard-on over my pajama bottoms. </p><p class="p1">"Harry--" </p><p class="p1">"I know what I feel," he cuts me off, hand starting to move slowly up to massage the tip of my cock. My mouth parts in a silent moan and I fight the urge to look away from him because even in this moment where he's so blatantly trying to take control to make up for the fact he has none, he's so fucking hot. "I feel how hard you are for me, how desperate." The pad of his thumb slides across my lips until I part them. He touches just the tip to my tongue and then pulls back as I'm about to wrap my lips around it. "You'd do anything for me right now, wouldn't you?" </p><p class="p1">Harry somehow manages to undo my drawstring with one hand while not looking, his hand sliding inside to firmly wrap around me. This time I do actually moan, letting my eyes slip shut for a second and nodding quickly. "I would. Anything you want." </p><p class="p1">"Anything, huh?" Harry asks teasingly, bringing the hand from inside of my pants up against my lips and gesturing for me to lick over it. I get his palm nice and wet for him to wrap back around me, the slide absolutely perfect now. Too perfect. "I want you to make yourself come while you're blowing me, and then I want you on all fours so I can make you come again," he scoots closer, wrapping a hand around his cock, "and again," and he's speeding up his fist around mine while I part my lips to take him in my mouth, "and again." </p><p class="p1">He guides one of my hands from around the headboard down to my cock, enclosing my fist around myself while I'm blowing him. I blink up at him while I do, moaning around him, getting off on pleasing him like it's all I want to do for the rest of my life. I suck hard, suck soft, alternate to get different reactions out of him. He closes his eyes, hands against the wall above the headboard to brace himself. </p><p class="p1">The dimples on his cheeks reveal themselves as he smirks like he's thinking of something only he could enjoy, and I find myself studying how the muscles in his abs are changing depending on what I do, how hard he must thrust back against my mouth, the sounds he lets out. </p><p class="p1">He has to feel that. </p><p class="p1">*** </p><p class="p1">After Denver, my life passes by systematically. </p><p class="p1">Niall picked Harry and I up from the airport. Took me back to my apartment and Harry to his. Zayn was smoking a joint with a couple of his friends when I walked in, and I turned down his offer in favor of snorting my own fix off of the top of my dresser. I somehow fell asleep with the cocaine high pounding in my chest like I was running a marathon still in the clothes I wore to get on the plane, still smelling like the last hospital visit we took before my mom had to plead me again to go. </p><p class="p1">I call Lottie every day for updates. I crack open my textbooks. I study. I procrastinate studying. Liam meets me in the library, at my place, with Natalie at small spots to eat before class, and we talk but I can't remember what about after we part ways. Natalie's calmed down about the wedding planning since Liam talked to her. She has other personality traits now--ones that she had before she became with what a wedding would look like in various parts of the Hampton, and I like her a lot more than I did. </p><p class="p1">Harry invites me on another weekend trip that no family emergency ruins, and we fuck, and he buys me basically an entirely new wardrobe, and we don't speak about whatever that feeling was back in the cabin at all. I learn to let it go. </p><p class="p1">And then I stop taking his calls for a while because it's a little too confusing, and I can only handle so much at one time. </p><p class="p1">I go to work. I make more money on my own. I end up giving a private dance to a couple of new clients who don't entice me nearly as much as Harry, and I learn to let that go too. </p><p class="p1">And then I get over myself and start taking his calls again. </p><p class="p1">I'm too high to remember Thanksgiving, who was over, who made what, where we even were, and for how long. </p><p class="p1">Finals pass, and it's snowing so much, and Gigi and Kendall are actually talking about the e word now, and somehow I end up with a decent GPA this semester even though I spent most of it making lines on top of my textbooks, and then it's the middle of December, and I--</p><p class="p1">Well.</p><p class="p1">I lose my fucking mind. </p><p class="p1">"Tomlinson!" Zayn yells with a raised can of beer in my direction that makes everyone else in the apartment shout the same thing. </p><p class="p1">POWER by Kanye West is blaring through the speakers, the bass hitting straight to my bones as I stand on top of the coffee table, spilling the liquor in my cup as I dance to the song. Some spills onto my shirt and I shake it off by peeling it off and tossing it into the sea of people like it's a damn bouquet. </p><p class="p1">Some random girl I'm assuming Zayn invited catches it and acts as if she's about to get married next, raising her shot glass to me before tipping it back against her lips. </p><p class="p1">"Let's fucking go!" I announce during the bridge, dropping down and rapping along to the lyrics. Kendall bumps into me right in the middle, and I almost lose my balance and topple over onto the floor. </p><p class="p1">She apologizes, leaning over to talk into my ear over the music. "Gi's talking to someone right now to buy a bag. Meet you in your room in five?" </p><p class="p1">"You know I'll never pass that offer up," I wink, and then slip off the table when the song changes to Losers by the Weeknd. I'm drunk as fuck and so is the rest of the room, and I'm trying to blindly navigate my way through a sea of people from my work, people from Zayn's. </p><p class="p1">Natalie and Liam are in the corner of the kitchen now covered in smoke from the two people I don't recognize passing a blunt back and forth in front of the stove.</p><p class="p1">"What's up, Tomlinson," one of them says when I walk in, and I fake knowing who they even are. </p><p class="p1">"What's up, man?" I fist bump with him, noticing that both of Liam and Natalie's beer bottles are almost empty. Can't have that. I slide past the men I apparently know to throw an arm around Natalie and hand them both the beers. "You two need a refill." </p><p class="p1">"Oh, God," Natalie laughs with a twisted up face, "Lou, you reek of alcohol." </p><p class="p1">"I've been drinking, darling," I laugh back, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and then flinging my arm around Liam. "How are you doing, President's List?" </p><p class="p1">He shrugs me off, blushing at the recognition of his achievement. I haven't shut up about the fact that not only did he end up on the President's List, but he also ended up top of our entire fucking class. Probably out of envy, probably out of jealously. "You flatter me too much." </p><p class="p1">"I don't flatter you <em>enough</em>." I point at Natalie and then back at Liam. "You realize you're marrying the next Johnnie Cochran?" </p><p class="p1">Natalie giggles, reaching forward to pinch at Liam's cheek, brushing her hand adoringly over his cheek. "He is amazing, isn't he?" </p><p class="p1">"A machine," I say right as Gi pops her head in the kitchen.</p><p class="p1">"Lou?" is all she says to me, which I know is my cue to head to the bedroom. To Natalie and Liam, she smiles brightly, looking up and down at Natalie's outfit. "Girl, you look hot." Then to Liam, "You better watch it, Payne, I might steal your girl." </p><p class="p1">"Hey!" Kendall says playfully behind her.</p><p class="p1">Gigi doesn't even bat an eye when she says, "Please, baby, like I'd ever leave your gorgeous ass." </p><p class="p1">"Where are you headed, Gi?" Zayn pops up, his face looking a bit like a lost puppy. Apparently, it's a party in the kitchen. </p><p class="p1">"For the hundredth time, Malik--" Gigi doesn't finish her sentence, but it must get the point across because Zayn skitters off back into the crowd. </p><p class="p1">I'm just about to head back towards my room when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I fish it out with one semi-coordinated hand, swiping it open to squint down at Harry's words on the screen. </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <strong>I was thinking we could take tonight to cross the kitchen off of our list? No chef tonight. </strong> </em>
</p><p class="p1">Fuck, I wish. I can even feel my jeans tighten at the thought of bending myself over the island and letting him have my way with me, but Gi and Kendall are waiting with a really, really fucking good stash, so I don't even think (at all) and type: </p><p class="p1">
  <em>havin a party at mine an Za's tonighttt u should come wil? seend aaaddress</em>
</p><p class="p1">and book it straight to the bedroom. </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">"Yo, Lou," Zayn says as he pops his head around the door. I already took my hit, so I look up from watching Kendall take hers. He doesn't blink an eye at the sight, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "Some guy is at the door. Says he knows you." </p><p class="p1">"Who--" I push past Zayn, eyes falling on Harry standing near the door and taking in his surroundings. "Oh shit." </p><p class="p1">"What is he wearing? He realizes this is a house party right?"</p><p class="p1">I scan my eyes over Harry's body, offer a lopsided smile at the way that he showed up in a slick yet casual suit he's adjusting while he waits. He came with the initial rings, a small gold necklace to match disappearing into the slightly undone buttons at the top of his dress shirt. "That's just Harry." </p><p class="p1">"Wait, <em>Harry</em>?" Zayn's eyebrows raise. "Like the Harry that you've been fucking disappearing with all of this time?" </p><p class="p1">I push a hand into his chest, eyes firmly locked on Harry on the other side of the room. "There's extra in the room. Go take a bump." </p><p class="p1">"Shit, thanks man," he says and then disappears behind me. </p><p class="p1">Harry notices me as I approach him, face going from concern to some resemblance of happiness. Pink + White by Frank Ocean comes on, and the crowd adjusts to a slow sway and grind to the beat around us. </p><p class="p1">"I'm surprised you're still standing considering you sent that awfully unintelligible text." </p><p class="p1">"What if I told you I didn't remember sending it?" </p><p class="p1">He laughs, leaning back against the wall. "I would believe you because your pupils are... really blown." </p><p class="p1">God, it was a good cut. "What if I also told you that I kind of want to rip your clothes off in the middle of the room?" </p><p class="p1">Harry shakes his head, but his jaw still clenches ever so slightly. "You're not in any shape to consent to that right now, Mr. I-Don't-Remember-A-Text-I-Sent-Fifteen-Minutes-Ago." I roll my eyes. "Which, by the way, you're lucky I knew your address because you didn't even bother to follow up with that." </p><p class="p1">"Gi bought a bag," I shrug like that's enough explanation, and it must be because he doesn't press any further. "So--" </p><p class="p1">"And who's this?" </p><p class="p1">"Speaking of Gigi." I pivot around on my feet and find her and Kendall walking hand in hand over to us. They're both high out of their minds and barely walking in a straight line. I outstretch a hand for them to steady themselves like I'm somehow a good anchor. "Gigi and Kendall, this is Harry. Harry, this is Gigi and Kendall." </p><p class="p1">"I've heard a lot about both of you," he says sweetly, shaking both of their hands. </p><p class="p1">"So this is Mr. Gold Rings?" Gi asks while she's obviously moving her eyes up and down his body. </p><p class="p1">"He's cute, Lou," Kendall adds after doing the same thing. </p><p class="p1">"You're right, baby," Gi says to her and then looks up at Harry. "You're slumming it tonight, huh? This is definitely no fancy penthouse." </p><p class="p1">"Louis invited me so," he replies, and I turn back to look at him. The way he says it sounds a lot like he did it out of desire instead of obligation. "Kendall, Louis tells me that you're designing for name-brand companies now?" </p><p class="p1">She nods happily. "I am, yes." </p><p class="p1">"I'd love to take a look at your portfolio." </p><p class="p1">"Oh," Kendall gasps, pressing a hand to her chest and her cheeks going red. "You would want to look at <em>my </em>portfolio?" </p><p class="p1">"I trust his opinion," he replies with a shrug and a smug smile and he really isn't helping me not think about ripping his clothes off. "I'll even remind you when you're able to remember." Her face falls like she's been caught, and he steps forward to press a calming touch to her shoulder. "Relax. I'm not going to tell anyone." </p><p class="p1">"He did it off of Lou, remember?" Gigi asks her, punctuating her words like she's whispering when she's so far from it. I shoot her a look she looks confused by, and I swear I catch Harry looking bashful but maybe that's just the drugs. </p><p class="p1">*** </p><p class="p1">We end up in the dining room deep in conversation about Kendall's fashion job with the rest of the party still alive around us. </p><p class="p1">Harry's genuinely interested in her designs, commenting on various aspects of her drawings she flicks through on her phone. Kendall is watching the whole thing unfold proudly, her arms crossed over her chest as her eyes are flicking back and forth between them as they take turns talking. It's a shame Harry will be the only one to remember this tomorrow morning. </p><p class="p1">"He's not so bad, huh?" I ask her quietly, nodding in Harry's direction.</p><p class="p1">"Fuck off, Louis," she says back with a quick raise of a middle finger. </p><p class="p1">I laugh it off, settling back in my chair and picking at the chip in the table. </p><p class="p1">I'm so hyperfocused on it that I don't notice the room starting to fade, the conversations all blurring together in one quiet hum when they were once pouring loudly into my ear. All I hear is the sharp bass cuts of The Hills, and my vision is starting to match the fuzziness of the beats. I don't panic mainly because I don't think I physically could right now, but my body is definitely not here anymore. No. My body is up from the table, standing</p><p class="p1">
  <em>in front of the doctor as he starts talking to my family in the waiting room. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"We'll have to run more extensive testing, but the symptoms are heavily suggesting metastatic melanoma." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I hate doctors. I hate their cold, callous speaking habits, and the way that he's delivering terrifying words with the straightest of faces. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Lottie looks up from where her arm was wrapped around my father. It makes my stomach turn that she's the one taking care of him after she's the one who found mom lying outside in the garden. "Melanoma? What is that--" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Skin cancer, Lottie," I answer for the doctor. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He nods in confirmation. "Yes, but the hallucinations suggest that your mother is quite far along in disease progression. This type of cancer is very aggressive. The results of her tests should tell us the stage of the tumor." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"The tumor?" She asks too frazzled to comprehend. "How is that related to the hallucinations?" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>The doctor looks at me for some reason, and I don't offer him any sort of emotion. He looks away. "The hallucinations would suggest that the tumor has spread to her brain." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Lottie starts crying, and my father still hasn't said a word. He's just staring like he always does, and since no one's going to ask the million-dollar question, I might as well. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"How long would she have without treatment?" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"That's hard to say, but the survival rate even with treatment is about five percent." </em>
</p><p class="p1">Five percent. </p><p class="p1">It was a five percent chance. It was bound to happen. She wasn't special enough to fit into that statistic. She had to be the 95%. </p><p class="p1">The fucking 95%. </p><p class="p1">My stomach flips, and I reach down to grab it, pushing the chair back with the force of my legs. </p><p class="p1">
  <em>"That's hard to say, but the survival rate even with treatment is about five percent." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"That's hard to say, but the survival rate even with treatment is about five percent." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"...about five percent." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Five percent."</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Five percent." </em>
</p><p class="p1">I don't know how I get into the bathroom, everything is still in slow motion until I'm leaned over the toilet, opening my mouth and throwing up. </p><p class="p1">My gagging brings me back to reality as does the stinging of stomach acid in the back of my throat. I can feel my cheeks dripping wet either from tears or the high, and I keep throwing up and throwing up and throwing up. </p><p class="p1">"Louis?" Harry's voice calls from behind the door, and I mean to tell him to go away but I can't keep anything down. He pushes the door open at the sound, freezing for a second and then kicking into action like this is something he's used to doing. He kneels down behind me, rubbing a hand over my back. I try to keep it in so he doesn't have to see it but that only increases the shaking until he's behind me and wrapping his arms loosely around my torso, his chin on my shoulder. "You're okay, Lou. It's okay." </p><p class="p1">"Five percent," I manage to spit out, wiping at my mouth. "Five percent, Harry. How fucking unfair is that? How fucking--" I've gone from throwing up to sobbing, but the tears are flowing so quickly and intensely that the nausea only intensifies. </p><p class="p1">He shushes me soothingly, brushing his nose through the hair in the back of my head. "I know, Lou." </p><p class="p1">"I never thought that I'd lose her. She doesn't deserve this after all she's done for us." I feel him stretch to reach the towel sitting on my sink, and he shifts a bit to the side to wipe at my cheeks and my mouth. I can't stop crying, I can't figure out how to breathe. I'm practically rocking back and forth on my heels, staring straight down into the toilet bowl while I try and fail to calm down. "Five percent, five percent, five fucking percent." </p><p class="p1">"Hey," he says quietly, dropping the towel and grabbing me until I'm cradled in his lap with my face pressed into the crook of his shoulder. "I know, baby. It's okay. Try and breathe for me please." </p><p class="p1">"It hurts so much," I sob into his shirt, and I'm cognizant enough to realize that I'm probably crying directly on top of thousands of dollars and he's not even blinking an eye. "And your shirt--"</p><p class="p1">"Baby," he shushes me again, pressing a long kiss onto my forehead. "Nevermind the shirt. The shirt can be dry cleaned." </p><p class="p1">I shake my head against him, bunching up the fabric of his suit jacket in my fist. "You have to stop acting like you care. I swear to god you're killing me with it. I can't--" </p><p class="p1">He runs a hand over my back, his fingers smoothing over the hot skin sticking to my t-shirt. He shushes me again, pressing my head closer to his body. I have a death grip on his clothes, his dress shirt soaked below my cheek. </p><p class="p1">"When are you going to realize that caring about you isn’t an act, Louis Tomlinson?" he asks so quietly I almost don't hear. </p><p class="p1">And it hurts that I probably won’t remember.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>lou talks to a lot of people and realizes something</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>some spice at the end &lt;3 </p><p>(and we're like... within reach of the moment everyone wants) </p><p>THANK YOU FOR 2000 HITS!! it's the way i adore you all so much</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I had arguably the worst shift of my entire fucking life.</p><p class="p1">In fact, I had arguably the worst work week of my entire fucking life. A week that makes me understand the appeal of Harry’s suggestion before I put my name on the bottom of the contract that I just quit and let him handle it.</p><p class="p1">I wanted to keep making my own money so I still had some sort of purpose. I have law school, sure, but that’s a different kind of thing. My sense of pride would be killed if all I was doing is sitting back and collecting a paycheck from Harry.</p><p class="p1">Although I guess I do work for it.</p><p class="p1">He makes me work for it.</p><p class="p1">I’m so happy for it to be over with, and to be back in the dressing room with Gigi peeling off her fake eyelashes so closely to the mirror she might as well become it.</p><p class="p1">Even happier when she turns towards me with a beaming smile to say, “It’s really great what Harry’s doing for Ken.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m assuming they had their meeting?”</p><p class="p1">A few days after the party and as he promised, Harry reached out to Kendall about her portfolio, wanting to look at her work for commission purposes. Apparently, he knows some women in the business who’d be interested in extending their wardrobe and interested in expending decent amounts of money to get there.</p><p class="p1">She nods excitedly, dropping the towel now covered with cover-up and mascara. “I called her on break to ask how it went, and he’s hooking her up with some tailor of his to make mock-ups.”</p><p class="p1">“Robert will love to do that,” I say casually to her and myself in the mirror, dabbing the sweat off of my forehead.</p><p class="p1">Her silence makes me feel like I missed something, and when I glance over at her reflection she looks like I just said something totally outrageous. “You know his tailor by name?”</p><p class="p1">I shrug. “We’ve spent a lot of time together recently.”</p><p class="p1">“So that’s how you’re getting all of this style all of a sudden. I never used to see you out of t-shirts and jeans.”</p><p class="p1">My cheeks heat up like she can know what I’ve done, how I’ve gone to his office months ago to put my name on a piece of paper that guaranteed me access to the lavish life of Harry Styles.</p><p class="p1">“I’ve been meaning to be more fashionable.”</p><p class="p1">“Uh huh,” she replies not at all convinced.</p><p class="p1">I’m about to distract away from me and ask her if she’s actually popped the engagement question when the door opens and the entire room goes silent.</p><p class="p1">The kind of silence that tells me the general manager just walked in.</p><p class="p1">“Have any of you seen, Louis?”</p><p class="p1">Gigi shoots me a worried glance, and hearing my name like that makes my adrenaline increase.</p><p class="p1">“I’m right here, sir,” I say with a smaller voice than usual, standing up from my chair. I should put on clothes if this is a normal establishment, but his ushering me back to the office while I’m in nothing but tight sparkly briefs and eyeliner indicate it’s far from it.</p><p class="p1">He gestures me to sit down once we’re inside, the place a mess of papers and old and new computer monitors with video footage running of the inside of the club. It smells like stale cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat, and I spot a pile of file folders on the edge of the desk with various names written on them.</p><p class="p1">The same file folder I watched him pull my application from when I applied a few years ago.</p><p class="p1">I gulp.</p><p class="p1">He puts his feet up on the desk, crossing his ankles over each other while he’s leaned back in his chair with a pensive face and folded hands in the shape of a steeple. “I know things have been difficult for you in the past month—“ Oh no. “—so I’m not discrediting that in the slightest. I am, however, concerned a bit about your work ethic recently.”</p><p class="p1">Oh no, oh no, <em>oh no</em>.</p><p class="p1">“Look, sir—“</p><p class="p1">“I took a chance when I hired you, Louis,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, “and you’re making me look awfully stupid.”</p><p class="p1">“You took a chance on me?” I ask entirely unaware of that minor fact. I remember him telling me he couldn’t imagine anyone else for the job, shoving those same file folders on his desk right back into the drawer and hiring me on the spot. “I had what it took to do this here with this client base. That doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p class="p1">“You didn’t have what it takes,” my manager corrects with a demeaning laugh. “We both know you spent more time in here practicing with Ms. Hadid than any of the other dancers.”</p><p class="p1">“So? I’m trying new moves, I’m perfecting what I already have—“</p><p class="p1">“Your tips are down, Louis.”</p><p class="p1">“My tips are down because I don’t have a man giving me $12,000 over two nights,” I protest. Harry doesn’t make a habit of coming in here now that we’re regularly seeing each other. Mostly out of my request that he respects this as my space. “Factor that out of the averages and what happens?”</p><p class="p1">“Your tips are still down.” I roll my eyes in frustration, and he takes his feet off of the desk to lean forward. “Look, I put myself on the line for you when I hired you. I went up to upper management, told them all about this kid who really needed help getting by. They told me not to be lenient on you, and I haven’t had to worry about that until now.”</p><p class="p1">I scoff, leaning forward myself. “You hired me as a charity case?”</p><p class="p1">“You were a law student prospect with a mother in a hospital,” he replies, and that answers my question. “I don’t want to have to do this—“</p><p class="p1">“You’re firing me?” I ask with eyebrows raised, hands planted on top of the dirty wooden desk in front of me that quite frankly feels a little oddly sticky. He doesn’t say anything. “Let me guess: you don’t want to look bad, is that it? You let the sad-sack kid come in here to dance and he has one bad week and now you’re afraid to get canned by the big boys.”</p><p class="p1">“It hasn’t been only one week, Louis,” he says quietly, and I don’t think I need to hear anymore.</p><p class="p1">I stand up abruptly, shaking my head in disbelief. “This is—You know what, Trevor? Fuck you. And you can take those words and shove them right up upper management’s ass.”</p><p class="p1">He looks at me with an entertained smirk that makes me want to smack it right off, but I don’t. I just push through the office door violently and storm right into the dressing room to collect my things.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">“You look like you’re having a bad day,” a voice says as I’m pacing around the parking lot. I just called Niall to see where he is, and apparently he’s stuck in insane traffic and probably won’t be here for a half-hour or so. Stupid New York City.</p><p class="p1">I’m kicking the mini rocks on the pavement in front of me, looking up to see who’s talking. Lucas walks out of the shadows with a bag of weed in his hand, shaking it around like he’s offering me a gold ring on the Home Shopping Network.</p><p class="p1">“Are you asking me if I want to buy that because I don’t have any cash on me right now?” Just the credit card with an insane balance on it but that’s neither here nor there.</p><p class="p1">“No,” he laughs, nodding towards the parking lot. “I’m offering you a session. Come smoke with me.”</p><p class="p1">I look back down at my feet in consideration before I mentally say fuck it and follow him to his car.</p><p class="p1">It’s an old car that’s kind of cramped and full of clothes for work and empty dime bags and windows with the lever to roll them down. He’s laughing at me trying to get mine unstuck, and my dry hands from the New York winter are scrapping along the sides as I fail.</p><p class="p1">Lucas leans over me to do it, his bare neck right in front of my face. He smells so fucking good—a mix of cheap cologne and sweat—and it travels straight down to the crotch of my pants. I subtly move my palm over myself to prevent anything from happening, smiling like nothing’s happening when he turns his head to look at me on the way back to his seat.</p><p class="p1">“Thanks for this,” I mumble when he hands me a joint and then lights the tip for me.</p><p class="p1">“You’re having a bad day,” he says like that explains the niceness of free weed. “What happened by the way?”</p><p class="p1">“Trevor fired me.”</p><p class="p1">Lucas coughs on his next inhale, wafting a hand in front of his face. “He did what?”</p><p class="p1">“He fired me,” I say again with a half-laugh. “Apparently he took a chance on me and my luck ran out.”</p><p class="p1">“Shit,” he breathes out with the smoke. “Sorry, man. What are you going to do for money?”</p><p class="p1">I look at him out of the corner of my eye, watch him</p><p class="p1">pick at his nails on the hand resting on his thigh.</p><p class="p1">He asks because he’d be fucked without this job, I’m sure. I don’t even mean that in a degrading way, either. I mean that because without Harry I would be too. The debt sitting in my student bank accounts, the medical bills my dad sends me invoices for, the apartment rent, the utilities—that’s on me. Not very many places would give me income like this.</p><p class="p1">“It isn’t even about the money,” I answer for the sake of ease. “It’s about losing something I can have myself. I go to school and get reamed by my pompous law professors, and then I come home to a roommate who dates a different girl every week probably having sex on the living room couch, and my family needs me more than I can handle sometimes, and I just liked to dance under the stupid cheap lights and con rich men into giving me insane tips for lap dances in ugly suspenders.”</p><p class="p1">“Hey, those suspenders were never ugly,” Lucas says, a small understand smile tugging on his lips. “I get it, though. I still live at home. I have six sisters and a mother strung out on meth. I do this to provide.”</p><p class="p1">“Meth?” That’s the one thing I’d never try. Well, that and heroin and crack and anything needing to be boiled and then shot up inside of me with a needle. “Shit, Luke.”</p><p class="p1">“It is what it is,” he shrugs off, “but I understand you. It gets crowded in a two-bedroom apartment with all of those people. Even more crowded when your mom decides to host that day’s meth party in the living room.”</p><p class="p1">“How old are your sisters?”</p><p class="p1">“The oldest is 14, so take with that as you will.”</p><p class="p1">“What about your dad?”</p><p class="p1">“Dipped out of the country and joined the cartel.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re kidding.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not,” he chuckles, blowing smoke out of the window. “It sounds absurd, but I swear I’m not. I haven’t heard from him in years.”</p><p class="p1">Doesn’t that just put things into perspective?</p><p class="p1">“That’s crazy, man,” I say as I finish the rest of my joint, leaning my head back against the passenger headrest and waiting for the high to kick in.</p><p class="p1">Him talking about his family makes me think of mine. Lottie’s updates will one day stop being routine and tell me exactly what I’m dreading, and my mom will disappear out of the hospital, out of the hospital bed, end up six feet under with nothing but a couple of flowers put by her grave.</p><p class="p1">I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes and sitting in the silence. I can tell Lucas finishes his by the way his coat rustles around as he rolls up the window. The cold air feels good, so I leave mine open and let the soft winter breeze sting my nose.</p><p class="p1">“Louis?” He asks after a couple of minutes of total quiet.</p><p class="p1">“Lucas.”</p><p class="p1">“Can I kiss you?”</p><p class="p1">I open my eyes, rolling my head to look over at him, and he’s already halfway across the center console with a soft look on his face. Once I’m looking at him, he darts his tongue out to wet his lips. I know what that’s supposed to do after doing it to guys myself, and it works. It almost always works and right now is no different.</p><p class="p1">My mouth goes dry, eyes searching his to figure out his intentions, and although me pressing a palm into the bulge of my jeans worked earlier, I can’t say that it’ll work now.</p><p class="p1">Gigi and Kendall were right all of those months ago about the tension between us, how I eye fucked him any chance I got, and I remember how it felt to kiss him in the bathroom while he slid that pill onto my tongue—eclectic electricity surging through every nerve ending.</p><p class="p1">But that was before.</p><p class="p1">He smiles slightly, and I smile out of politeness which he takes as something else and starts to lean further over the console until his hand is on my cheek and he’s hovering over my lips.</p><p class="p1">It would just be a kiss before <em>before</em>.</p><p class="p1">I put my hand on his chest to stop him from coming any closer, letting out a nervous laugh.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry, Lucas.”</p><p class="p1">“What—“ He looks really confused as he sits back into his seat, furrowing his brows and looking straight ahead at the wall he parked in front of. “We have chemistry. I don’t—Did I misread all of this? The kiss in the bathroom? This whole sharing my life with you right now?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m seeing someone,” I say as a half-truth that’s a kind of sort of full truth. Kind of.</p><p class="p1">“You’re seeing someone,” he scoffs, running a hand over his forehead. “Okay, I’m dumb as fuck.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re not—“</p><p class="p1">“Just go, Louis.”</p><p class="p1">I rest my hand on the door handle in preparation to get out of the car—am I really? I look back at him, and he’s nowhere near looking at me, just staring firmly straight ahead of himself. We would’ve been in his backseat tearing each other’s clothes off by now.</p><p class="p1">I go. </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The nightlife of New York City is one of my favorite things—the bustling crowds of people, the city lights, the sound of music coming from patios. I’m taking it all in with my head in my hands and pressed up against the window in the backseat, enjoying Niall’s company as we’re stuck in busy weekend traffic.</p><p class="p1">“How was work?” He inquires casually, beating his fingers on the steering wheel.</p><p class="p1">“I got fired.”</p><p class="p1">“Well alright then.”</p><p class="p1">“How was your night?”</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t get fired.”</p><p class="p1">I crack a smile, laughing a little. “Harry let you live another day.” He laughs back in agreement, sighing when we’re stopping for the hundredth time at the hundredth red light. I look at him in the rearview mirror and then down at my lap while I rub a finger over my eyebrow. “Lucas tried to kiss me after we smoked, and I didn’t want to. I turned him down.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay, so you didn’t kiss him,” he says like he would’ve assumed I wouldn’t have. He doesn’t realize that it’s a big deal. “Wait, I never asked you if you were going to see Harry tonight.”</p><p class="p1">“Because I haven’t figured it out,” I reply, digging with stiff fingers into my pocket for my phone. The hole I poke through on my way through reminds me that I haven’t changed yet. Well, I have. Just not into Harry appropriate material. “Oh shit, Niall, do I still have that bag of clothes in the trunk?”</p><p class="p1">“Should still be in here,” he says with a soft flick of his eyes back towards me.</p><p class="p1">I unbuckle my seatbelt, leaning uncomfortably and frantically over the seat as I press the phone to my ear. Harry answers right as I’m stretching back with the bag of clothes.</p><p class="p1">“Louis Tomlinson,” he says with a smile in his voice.</p><p class="p1">“Hello, Harry Styles,” I reply and flip off Niall who glances back in the rearview with a knowing shake of his head. “Where are you this evening?”</p><p class="p1">“My office, sadly. Had a few weekend meetings.”</p><p class="p1">“And are those meetings complete?” I pull my shirt over my head quickly, tossing it next to me and exchanging it for a silky button-up.</p><p class="p1">“They are,” he answers, and he’s definitely smirking because he knows where this is going. “Why do you sound out of breath without me there?”</p><p class="p1">I laugh way too loudly, earning another playful look from Niall. “That was corny, but I’ll answer you anyway. I’m changing in the back of the car.”</p><p class="p1">“Into something nice, I hope?”</p><p class="p1">“Into something nice,” I smile back, trying to shove my jeans down to change into a dressier pair of comfy pants without dropping the phone. “I’ll see you in a bit.”</p><p class="p1">“I look forward to it,” he sighs into the receiver, and my heart picks up just at that.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">It’s weird to walk into the office building with such ease and casualty, bowing my head at Miles who asks me how my night is going. We get into a small conversation inside of the elevator up to the office, but that’s always the extent of it.</p><p class="p1">Lydia stands up from behind the computer to smile warmly at me when I appear from the elevator doors. I smile back, taking in her green dress and matching pearls she shows up by having her hair in a tight ponytail.</p><p class="p1">“You look dashing this evening, Lydia,” I tell her as I’m walking past. “Hopefully you won’t have to stay too long.”</p><p class="p1">“Mr. Styles gave me instructions to leave when you arrived,” she says happily, humming to herself as she starts to gather her things to go.</p><p class="p1">Of course he did. Now we have the top floor to ourselves entirely.</p><p class="p1">I push through Harry’s office door, rounding the corner to find him behind his desk working diligently. The room is dark save for one light on his desk and the city outside of the windows. He looks up and over his computer screen and promptly shuts it.</p><p class="p1">I smirk at that, walking slowly over where he’s sitting. “Good evening.”</p><p class="p1">“Good evening,” he says with a grin, turning in his chair to face me. “How was your shift?”</p><p class="p1">“You remembered,” I say surprised, and then, “I got fired, actually.”</p><p class="p1">“Fired?” His eyebrows raise, and his hands immediately going to undo his tie.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say dismissively. “I want to blow off steam.”</p><p class="p1">“Blow off steam, huh? I can do blowing off steam.”</p><p class="p1">“Can you?” I drop down to my knees, reaching gingerly for the button on his dress pants. “Can you handle me blowing you?”</p><p class="p1">“Let’s find out,” he answers, cockily resting his hands behind his head while he reclines back in the chair. He’s so fucking hot like this, and dare I say he’s all mine? Regardless of the circumstances, I think it’s at least safe to make that claim.</p><p class="p1">It goes straight to my chest.</p><p class="p1">He goes straight into my mouth.</p><p class="p1">Harry’s hands find my hair almost instantly, gripping hardly, tugging on the strands like he can’t take it. I blink up at him just in time to watch his mouth fall open in a guttural groan. That’s quicker than what I can normally expect from him. Must have had a stressful day and needed this as much as I did.</p><p class="p1">I pull off to breathe, spit stringing between his cock and my lips that I wipe off with the back of my hand. He looks down at the loss of contact, and I absently jerk him off while I talk.</p><p class="p1">“I need you to come in my mouth and call me baby, and then I need you to fuck the life out of me. Can you handle <em>that</em>?”</p><p class="p1">Harry tugs at my head until I’m going back down on him in response, moving me on him by the strands balled up in his fingers. He can handle that. Of course he can. There’s no question about it.</p><p class="p1">The question is can I?</p><p class="p1">I let him fuck my mouth, tucking both hands behind my back at my own accord. I want him to have this power over me right now because I don’t want to think, I don’t want to have to do anything besides take it, and fuck is it so fucking intoxicating.</p><p class="p1">My eyes water when he slides to the back of my throat, holding me there until I gag.</p><p class="p1">“That’s it, Louis,” he sighs out unevenly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> "Fuck, it's like your mouth was made for this." </span><span class="Apple-converted-space">Sometimes it does feel that way given how much I enjoy it. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space">I smile around him, letting him touch the back of my throat over and over again until his hips are starting to stutter. I know he's about to come moments before he actually does with a sharp "Holy <em>shit</em>, baby," echoing through the room. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I hold my tongue out when he slips out of my mouth, tucking himself back into his pants for the principle of the matter considering we're about to take these clothes right off. Harry looks down at me with glazed eyes, running a hand through his hair as I make a show out of swallowing. He shakes his head in disbelief, pulling me up at the same pace he's standing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He looks so good with the post-orgasm glow on his cheeks, his tie undone and hanging around his shoulders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You ready for the second part?" I ask, pulling at the tie and dropping it on the desk. He watches me do it, leaning around me to pull open a drawer and produce a condom he throws right next to the tie. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Get undressed," he says sternly, eyes fixed on mine. "I'll fuck you over the conference table this time." </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>harry's place loses power, and he loses his guard</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the way that we are literally a chapter away from the moment everyone wants &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I walk out of the master en suite toweling off my hair and find Harry sitting cross-legged on his bed in just his boxers staring at the television. I follow his gaze, sitting on the edge of the bed to listen to them talk.</p><p class="p1">They say it’s the biggest snowstorm in a while, and the snow piling up on his balcony agrees with that assertion.</p><p class="p1">“The most important thing is not panicking. Right, Jeff?” the newscaster asks the other, smacking the pile of paper in her hand down on the table.</p><p class="p1">“Exactly right, Charlotte. Though power outages are to be expected, the worst will pass through overnight.”</p><p class="p1">“And the power outages are because of the winds?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yes,” he chuckles. “High winds. Stay safe out there, New York.”</p><p class="p1">I look back at Harry over my shoulder. “It’s cute how badly you guys freak out over blizzards here. I lived in a blizzard most of my life.”</p><p class="p1">“We could lose power,” he says with a straight face as he tries to see around me.</p><p class="p1">“Okay and? You have candles don’t you?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, I have candles.”</p><p class="p1">“Then we don’t need to worry about power.”</p><p class="p1">He gives me a shocked look and then scoffs. “Don’t have to worry about power? We need power. I shouldn’t have sent Phillip home. We’ll need food, we’ll need—“</p><p class="p1">“Harry,” I laugh, crawling backward in bed until I’m straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. I’m still in a towel, the fabric loosening around my waist. “I know we just showered, but I could take your mind off of it.” I toy with the towel until it’s off and lying on the floor. My hands run up his chest and settle on his neck. “Let me ride you.”</p><p class="p1">“Louis,” he says irritatedly, still straining to look above and around me at the television screen. I roll my eyes, staring at the wall in back of him until I give up and shift off to crash on the bed next to him.</p><p class="p1">“You know, we can just cook ourselves.” Harry gives me a blank stare, and I look at him skeptically. “You do know how to cook don’t you?”</p><p class="p1">“I grew up with all of this. What do you think?”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe don’t admit that to anyone but me,” I joke, sliding off of the bed to start putting my clothes on. “I know how to cook,” I say with a strain as I pull my pants on and then search for my hoodie on the ground somewhere, “and if that’s not good enough we can order from the hotel downstairs.”</p><p class="p1">Without taking his eyes from the increasingly more intense newscasters talking about horrific snow accidents—so much for keeping calm—he says, “We can’t order from them. They probably have their whole supply chain disrupted by this.”</p><p class="p1">I blink, stilling my hand smoothing over my hoodie. “Disrupted by a singular storm? That started a few hours ago? In the middle of the evening?”</p><p class="p1">He turns his head, pouting slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”</p><p class="p1">“You’re just out of touch,” I say with a shake of my head. “Besides, we—<em>you</em> still have power. It’s nothing to—“ And the power drops. Just like that. “—worry about.” I cough, resting my hands on my hips as I see from Harry’s outline lit up by the city lights that he’s just staring and probably in shock. “Well, I would change your clothes. It’s going to get cold in here relatively quickly.”</p><p class="p1">“Shit,” he hisses, standing up and turning the flashlight on his phone to walk into his changing room. “This is such shit. You know I pay $200,000 a month for this place?” His voice is muffled by one of his closet doors, but I can sense his frustration.</p><p class="p1">“You pay two hundred <em>thousand </em>dollars for this place a <em>month</em>? Jesus, Harry, I think Zayn and I are a grand each.”</p><p class="p1">“And you see what two thousand gets you in comparison to two hundred thousand.”</p><p class="p1">“Ouch, you dick.”</p><p class="p1">He pops back out in what looks like a hefty winter outfit, and as much as I wish I could make fun of him for it it’s probably exactly right. “Sorry,” Harry mumbles. “I’m just stressed and not prepared for this. It’s never happened before.”</p><p class="p1">“Luckily for you,” I start as I’m walking over towards him and pressing a finger into his chest, “I’m a professional at dealing with snowstorms and losing power. I swear it would happen at least ten times a year back home when I was younger until they were able to upgrade the backup generators. Just show me to your candles, and I’ll handle it.”</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">I make the place look damn romantic if you ask me.</p><p class="p1">No one is asking me, but I still make it look damn romantic.</p><p class="p1">We decide to use one of Harry’s bunch of unused rooms to set up shop—it’s a dipped in den with a fireplace away from any big windows that could encourage the cold. The hardwood floor isn’t ideal, but he pulled the comforters and blankets from various bedrooms to cushion the floor. We could use the couches but they’re not as close to the fire, and the temperature in here is dropping at a rapid pace.</p><p class="p1">The room is nice, and I’m surprised he doesn’t hang out in here more. Smooth mahogany bookshelves line the back wall, and a table against the other one has a cigar humidor and a tray with a bottle of liquor and two rocks glasses waiting to be used. A modern looking picture hangs above that table—do not think about Nick, Louis—that compliments the one near the desk in the back with the big leather chair behind it. It’s darker in here than the other places in the penthouse and definitely made for a moment like this.</p><p class="p1">I splayed candles of various scents and sizes all around the room—the desk, the table, the couple of empty spots on the bookshelves, the coffee table behind us, the end tables, on the mantle, and on the floor in sporadic locations.</p><p class="p1">It reminds me of my childhood and my mother putting us to bed in the living room so we wouldn’t freeze in our rooms. The twins always liked to sleep cuddled up next to me, and Lottie would act too old for it and then end up joining in at the end. My parents took the couch, of course, and we’d let the crackle of a fire and a hundred burning candles lull us into sleep. I had some of the best sleep of my life in those moments.</p><p class="p1">We’ll never have another.</p><p class="p1">“Lou?” Harry asks, and only then do I realize I’m staring directly into the fire. I turn to where he was sitting on the ground, but instead, I find him holding two covered plates of food right behind me. The room service must’ve come. “You okay?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine,” I say quietly, reaching up to grab the plate he’s dropping down to my level.</p><p class="p1">“You do that sometimes,” he points out while he settles back into a cross-legged position on the floor.</p><p class="p1">“Do what?”</p><p class="p1">“You have these moments where you just disappear. Sometimes it’s only a couple of seconds, sometimes minutes. I’ve been trying to figure out a pattern, but I don’t think there is one. You’re not like a business stock.” He adds the last part with a smile, and I laugh a little as I take a bite of a french fry.</p><p class="p1">“No, I’m not like a business stock.” But he’s trying to figure out my trends. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make something settle deep into my chest, ignite a fire inside of my lungs.</p><p class="p1">He takes a bite of his hamburger, chewing it thoroughly before opening his mouth again. “What do you think about when you disappear?”</p><p class="p1">That’s a loaded question.</p><p class="p1">I swallow my food, taking a long sip of the wine he poured for his from the cellar a little bit ago. “My family. My mom, in specifics.”</p><p class="p1">“I haven’t heard you talk to Lottie in a while.”</p><p class="p1">There was a time when we first got home it was like clockwork. She would call right after lunch their time and me stopping by after class to collect a new outfit or a check or sex. Now it’s much more sporadic. Keeps me on my toes.</p><p class="p1">I play with the food on my plate, suddenly losing my appetite. “She still calls every day. Tells me about her day, prolongs the inevitable question of how mom is.”</p><p class="p1">“How is she doing?”</p><p class="p1">“Growing weaker, having more hallucinations. Lottie said she caught mom hugging the air the other day thinking it was grandpa, and mom swore up and down she could really feel him. It never used to be textile so I’m assuming that means negative progression.”</p><p class="p1">I push my food away from me and lay down flat on my back, staring up at the smooth dark painting of the ceiling.</p><p class="p1">“Is that why you do drugs?”</p><p class="p1">Another loaded question. He’s two for two tonight.</p><p class="p1">“Most of it. I like the euphoria but mainly I want to forget.” I realize how contradictory that sounds the moment it flies out of my mouth. Just last month I was throwing up under the influence because I couldn’t stop remembering. “When things started getting really bad and she was in and out of the hospital and they were running all of these diagnostics I started using. I’ve smoked all my life, but I tried the harder stuff at a party one day, and that was it. I just wanted to feel those few hours of high as much as I could.”</p><p class="p1">Harry sits back on his hands, crossing his ankles over each other. “Have you tried talking to someone instead? Drugs are great, sure, but they’re only masking things.”</p><p class="p1">“Says the guy who snorted cocaine off of my ass,” I say back defensively but only because I know he’s right.</p><p class="p1">He looks into the fire, the soft red and orange flames framing one side of his face. It makes him look a bit like a painting I would want to stare at forever. I think of the painting above the table again, and then I wonder if he was ever Nick’s test subject, if he ever stayed in one position while he worked a brush over a canvas and brought Harry to life. I’d want it if he did.</p><p class="p1">“I go to therapy.”</p><p class="p1">That’s a surprise and I articulate as such. “<em>You</em> go to therapy?”</p><p class="p1">“You know what you walked in that day,” he replies knowingly, and he’s right. I would imagine that kind of dynamic between a son and a father would be enough to send anyone to the talking chair. “Sometimes when I see crashes on the news I feel the same way you do. I lose myself in the fear. It’s taken a lot of time to get to the point that it’s a moment of panic and not months or weeks.”</p><p class="p1">I sit up on my elbows, nudging my crossed ankles against his. “Why do you use then?”</p><p class="p1">His lips tug up into a half-smirk as he nudges my feet back. “The fun of it.” I laugh, watching him leap up and turn on his phone flashlight to take with him across the room. “Come here, let me show you something.”</p><p class="p1">I come up behind him near the table with the humidor and rocks glasses, and he gently tugs open the drawer, revealing a dark photo album.</p><p class="p1">Harry points at the picture inside of the small slot in the front. “This is us before disaster.”</p><p class="p1">His father isn’t in the photo, but his mother is along with who I assume to be Gemma and himself at very young ages. The setting looks almost identical to this room, and it starts to set in why Harry might not come in here very often.</p><p class="p1">“Look how cute you are,” I say warmly as he opens the book and goes through the photos containing him through elementary school up to the time of the accident—I assume this only because that’s when the photos stop. He probably didn’t have anyone to take them anymore.</p><p class="p1">“Take a look at this table, and then let me show you this.” His voice is almost a whisper as I survey over the items I’m already familiar with.</p><p class="p1">He turns the page, pointing out a picture of his mother holding a decently large glass full of whiskey with a huge smile on her face. There’s a cigar burning next to her, and the setting looks like the most lavish, dark wood library I’ve ever seen.</p><p class="p1">“My father used to feed us whiskey when we were younger to calm us down while he had clients over,” he begins to tell me, and I still out of realization that he’s sharing this with me without us having been intertwined in the sheets after sex. “Same with cigars when Gems and I were teenagers. Mom was against that, of course, even though she was arguably a bigger smoker and drinker than he was. She wanted to enjoy it properly when we were of age and that obviously never got to happen, so now every year on the anniversary of her death I come in here and smoke a cigar, have a drink.”</p><p class="p1">“She’s beautiful,” I say in response, running my fingers lightly over a picture of her and Harry together when he’s at least old enough to have braces.</p><p class="p1">“She is, isn’t she?” He replies sentimentally. “I think your mom and my mom would’ve liked each other.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s to assume they would understand this right now.” I don’t know why I say it, and I regret it the moment I do. He sets down the photo album, closing it gingerly.</p><p class="p1">Way to ruin a moment, Louis.</p><p class="p1">He rests his palms on the table behind him, resting his low back against the table as he looks down at his feet. “Nathan was the only one who understood what I was going through, so when he did that to me…” Harry trails off, shaking his head and laughing to himself like he still can’t believe that happened. “I thought I wasn’t worthy outside of cash, so if I found someone I connected with I only knew how to be there in the way you and I are now. There’s this line that he drew in the sand in me, and I’ve been so careful not to cross over that it became second nature to put that distance up.”</p><p class="p1">I take note of the way he says “been” like he used to be and now there’s something up for grabs that he can’t put a finger on.</p><p class="p1">“Where do you fall on that line now, Harry?”</p><p class="p1">He brings his up to look at me. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”</p><p class="p1">I step forward into his space, tipping his head up in this moment of vulnerability and praying to whoever is up above that I’m right about this. “I’m scared too, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” he nods, his words thick and heavy in between us now that we’re almost brushing noses. “Yeah, I know.”</p><p class="p1">We pause, both of us looking from each other’s lips to the other’s eyes. The fire crackles softly off to the side, the candles flickering in the darkness of the room. The wind outside is so intense that we can hear the gust go by as it does, and this moment feels like I’m holding a bomb in my hand and waiting for it to explode.</p><p class="p1">I nudge my nose forward after I realize he isn’t going to make the first move, and I brush my lips against his. I’m asking without asking.</p><p class="p1">He nods, bringing a hand up to the back of my head and carding his fingers through my hair. I part my lips, connect them to his, and he kisses back slowly, softly, like I’m this fine piece of china he doesn’t want to break.</p><p class="p1">My hands fall to his hips, wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer to me. I coax his mouth open, tongues sliding gently inside. We’re doing it out of exploration and not desperation—the fire inside of my stomach not at all because I want his clothes off but because I want to know what this would be like with him just like this.</p><p class="p1">“Louis,” he sighs in between, pressing his forehead to mine for a second. I know. God, do I know. I hear him swallow before he repeats my own words.“Do you feel that?”</p><p class="p1">“I feel that,” I reply simply, taking his face in my hands and kissing him again.</p><p class="p1">*** </p><p class="p1">I wake up boiling hot under three blankets, sweat pooling on my forehead. </p><p class="p1">The sun glares into the room, and I crack my eyes open carefully to remember where exactly I am. </p><p class="p1">I'm alone, buried under the heaviness of the blankets, the sound of crackling on a stove coming from rooms away. The candles are burnt down to their core, their wicks blackened and sticking out from the concavity of the wax. The plates and glasses from room service are still on the ground next to the heap of additional blankets, and when I stretch my feet, I hit a pillow on the other side of the couch that must be Harry's. </p><p class="p1">Where is Harry? </p><p class="p1">I push the blankets off of my body to give myself a chance to cool down, standing up to stretch my arms over my head. A quick glance outside of the window tells me that the newscasters were correct about the significance of the storm. No one drove tonight out of fear, so the snow is still on the ground in fresh white softness. Undisturbed. Peaceful. </p><p class="p1">I should find my phone and text Gigi and Kendall to make sure they survived last night, but I don't even know where to begin with that. </p><p class="p1">My stomach is grumbling, too, so maybe I should just follow the smell of food as it carries me all the way to the kitchen. </p><p class="p1">Once I'm there, I realize that it's actually burning food. Literally food catching on fire. </p><p class="p1">The smoke clears, and Harry is on the other side frantically wafting it away with a towel and his hand, his nose crinkled up at the stench. </p><p class="p1">"Are you really risking it all for some scrambled eggs?" I ask, leaning over the counter slightly to confirm that is exactly what he's cooking. </p><p class="p1">He frowns when he sees me, covering them up with a towel. "No, I'm not." </p><p class="p1">"The burner is still on!" I exclaim right when the towel starts to catch fire. My body moves too quickly for barely being awake, shoving him out of the way and turning on the cold water in his sink. I grab the pan and the towel, dumping them both into the cooling water with a loud sizzle. "I can't say I've ever seen someone <em>actually</em> burn the eggs." </p><p class="p1">"I don't know what I'm doing!" He protests, holding his hands out and pointing to everything in the kitchen. "This looked nice, and that's all I know. Phillip handles all of the cooking and the groceries and the turning the burner on and off." </p><p class="p1">I look down at how high he had it turned off, laughing to myself. "Okay, first lesson: you don't need the burner on Super Boil to make scrambled eggs. That's for boiling things. Like water." </p><p class="p1">"Which you use for pasta and things right?" </p><p class="p1">Oh my god. "I'm starting to think you're an alien. Yes." </p><p class="p1">He shrugs innocently, trying to reach behind me to grab something off the counter. I slide to block him, holding out a palm and sternly shaking my head. "No way. I'll cook. Go sit." He presses a kiss to my cheek almost like it's a habit, and it catches me off guard, but I put it in my pocket for a day I won't have this again. "Where are your other pans and stuff?" I ask while I'm fishing through the billion cabinets and drawers he has back here. I glance up at him, and he's giving me another stupid blank stare. "Right. I don't know why I expected you to know that." </p><p class="p1">Harry taps on the kitchen counter, announcing that he'll go put some music on to make himself useful and pads away probably to some fancy inter-house speaker system. </p><p class="p1">It takes me a total of five minutes of fishing through Harry's things to realize that I'm not freezing at all and the power must be back up. My heart sinks in a weird way. I don't think I'd mind another repeat of last night. </p><p class="p1">A weird robotic voice makes me jump as it announces that the speakers are now connected to Harry's iPhone. </p><p class="p1">"I'm just going to shuffle the entire library," he calls down the hall? or room? from somewhere. </p><p class="p1">"Okay," I call back, cracking the eggs into the pan. </p><p class="p1">The sound of a soft acoustic guitar hits the speakers, and I quickly recognize it as First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes. I don't know what kind of music I assumed he would listen to--maybe jazz like Niall, some absurd classical--but this doesn't fall in that realm. It's a pleasant surprise, and it's a good change of pace from the hip hop and rap I'm usually exposed to at work and from Zayn at home. </p><p class="p1">Harry walks in right as the lead singer sings, "Yours is the first face that I saw. I think I was blind before I met you," flashing me a relieved smile that the smell of burning eggs is being replaced by how breakfast is supposed to be. Or maybe it's at me. </p><p class="p1">I think I'll think it's at me. </p><p class="p1">"If these things take forever, I especially am slow," the song rings in my ear. </p><p class="p1">And I try to ignore the cliche of that. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>there's so much to unpack here, i'm not even sure how to summarize it just know that The Moment is finally here</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SO i'm sorry for such a delay!! i've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off (let's talk about how weird this saying actually is??) and applying for apartments and getting into my dream school (humble brag) and this ended up being almost 6k which is actually kind of insane </p><p>but I'll stop rambling now just to say thank you. you guys are all amazing and i appreciate every hit, bookmark, kudo, subscribe, and comment you all send my way. </p><p>hopefully this is worth your wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">A trickle of heat runs up my spine, stirring me awake from one of the best sleep in my entire life.</p><p class="p1">My eyes flutter open to the empty pillow next to me, ears registering the shifting of sheets, body registering a hot mouth enclosing around my cock.</p><p class="p1">As I start to wake up, the pleasure builds until I’m lying with my hands behind my head and thinking how I could absolutely get used to this.</p><p class="p1">“Good morning to me,” I hum softly, and Harry pulls his mouth off slowly, placing kisses from the base of my cock and up my body until he’s peeking back out from under the sheets.</p><p class="p1">“Good morning to you,” he says with lips pressed to my jaw. “How’d you sleep?”</p><p class="p1">“Really well,” I sigh as his body grinds down against mine in slow waves that send white behind my eyelids. “Woke up even better.”</p><p class="p1">Harry smiles against my neck, running a hand up my side and resting near my chest. “You came to bed late and were pretty stressed last night so I—“</p><p class="p1">I cock my eyebrow, the meaning of his paying that close of attention not lost on me in the slightest. “You noticed that I was stressed last night?”</p><p class="p1">I was studying for an exam, tucked away in a cozy corner across the apartment while he entertained a few clients with late-night drinks and fancy appetizers Phillip cooked up. His whole goal was to get them relaxed with expensive liquor and then propose a trade before midnight, and he looked back at me with a nervous face and a wink and a round of his shoulders and directed them towards his office.</p><p class="p1">“I did,” he said quietly, nudging his nose against mine. He’s brave for getting this close to me without me having brushed my teeth, and I’m brave for letting him get this close to me for him not having brushed his and having my cock in his mouth. “You were clenching your jaw in your sleep, too.”</p><p class="p1">I pull back a little to get a full look at his face. “I didn’t even know I clench.” My hand darts up to rub against my jaw, and yeah, I guess it is kind of sore. “The more you know.”</p><p class="p1">“The more you do,” he smiles, pressing a quick kiss to the spot I just rubbed with my fingers. “I’m going to finish getting you off before class, okay?”</p><p class="p1">I nod quickly. “That’d be nice.”</p><p class="p1">Harry shoots me a knowing look as he disappears back underneath the sheets to wrap his lips back around me. It’s pornographic to watch the sheets rise and fall with the bob of his head, to hear the subtle sounds of spit and suction working over my erection like sucking on a popsicle.</p><p class="p1">His thumb presses gingerly around my hole, clearly intending to do nothing more but tease me with the pressure, and it’s enough to make my eyes roll back in my head. I mold into the pillow, my back arching slightly, and his hands find my hips and hold me down.</p><p class="p1">“Baby,” I whine out without thinking, and he doesn’t seem bothered as he just sucks harder, flicking his tongue over the tip in broad stripes each time he moves upwards.</p><p class="p1">I want to stay here forever.</p><p class="p1">Harry doesn’t say anything to my expletives and pleading sounds, moving to suck over my balls while keeping steadily jerking me off. My fists ball the sheets up in my hands, my eyes sealing shut as my orgasm overtakes my entire body.</p><p class="p1">He pops the sheets from over his head while he’s milking me through it, smirking up at me wickedly. “You made a bit of a mess, Lou,” he says seductively, looking at me the entire time he’s using his tongue to clean the come off of my stomach and his fingers.</p><p class="p1">My abs flutter, and I know that I could get hard again if he wants to fuck me, but I also know I’ll be entirely too sensitive to make a show out of the second time.</p><p class="p1">“That felt good,” I sigh happy and satisfied, pulling him back up by his shoulders. “Let me get you off, too?”</p><p class="p1">He shakes his head, pointing to the clock on the nightstand next to me. I follow his gaze, groaning in frustration when I see it’s almost time for me to go to class.</p><p class="p1">“You don’t have time for that.”</p><p class="p1">“I could be late,” I offer hopefully.</p><p class="p1">“You can’t be late. Not because of me.”</p><p class="p1">I roll my eyes, playfully knocking into his shoulder. “You’re no fun, you know that?”</p><p class="p1">He laughs, brushing my hair off my forehead in an act that somehow feels more emotionally charged than the rest of the events this morning. “I can live with that if that means you don’t miss your class. Go shower. I’ll have Phillip make you breakfast, and I’ll give the spare key to James so you can come back later.”</p><p class="p1">I pout, but I don’t win. He slides right off of me, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and adjusting so there’s not such an obvious bulge.</p><p class="p1">“Will you have him make—“</p><p class="p1">“Two egg whites on a whole wheat bagel with spinach, avocado, and swiss?” I blink in response. He remembered. “Yes. Stop stalling.”</p><p class="p1">I watch him walk out of his bedroom, and then I sit up to stretch. My body falls back in a slump when I bring my arm back down, my limbs heavy from the orgasm moments before.</p><p class="p1">He remembered.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">Turning the key to Harry’s place feels weird, and it’s even weirder to put my things down on the table in the foyer like it’s habit.</p><p class="p1">Like I live here.</p><p class="p1">Harry’s voice carries from his office, and I shrug off my coat to put on the hook behind the door, kicking off my shoes in a careful way so I don’t scuff the floor.</p><p class="p1">I gently set my bag down on the floor for the same reason, rolling up my sleeves in response to the heat in here compared to out there. It’s getting a little warmer the closer we get to spring (even though it’s already March, but that’s no matter for New York City) and even more so compared to the snowstorm a few weeks back.</p><p class="p1">Violet appears around the corner with her face buried in a phone, nearly bumping into me on the way to the other side of the penthouse.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, goodness. Sorry, Lou,” she says with an apologetic look and clearly frazzled.</p><p class="p1">“No worries,” I say back with a smile, leaning against the table. “You look super stressed.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m trying to coordinate something with Vivian right now. You two apparently need nice suits in the next few hours.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh?” I didn’t know we were going anywhere. “We have plenty of good suits upstairs. He does, at least, and I know I have like two.”</p><p class="p1">“Not good enough for Mr. Styles apparently.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you talking about me, Vi?” Harry calls from near the kitchen with a playful smile on his face. He softens when he sees me, giving a small wave that I return.</p><p class="p1">“Always talking about you,” she calls over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes and then a polite smile back at me. “I think you’re lucky enough to be in the presence of both Mr. and Ms. Styles.”</p><p class="p1">Oh great. His father. “Ms?”</p><p class="p1">“Gemma,” Violet replies, tapping on my shoulder twice as she brushes past and presses a phone to her ear.</p><p class="p1">“Gemma,” I repeat out loud, looking to see if Harry is off the phone before walking toward him. “Gemma?”</p><p class="p1">Harry’s cut off from speaking by Phillip offering him a taste of the sauce he’s making on the stove which smells absolutely divine. He offers the spoon to me in silence, but I politely decline. This is more important than the garlic-smelling goodness filling my nostrils.</p><p class="p1">“Gemma,” he replies after he swallows. “Phillip, this is extraordinary.”</p><p class="p1">“Borrowed the recipe from one of my coworkers,” Phillip beams and then adds with a wink, “He’s directly from Italy.”</p><p class="p1">“Perfect, perfect,” Harry says, spinning around in the chair to outstretch his arms toward me. “Isn’t this just the best, most exciting news you received today? I know it is for me. I mean,” he scoffs, “I come back here and find out that my sister is coming to visit on business and wants to have dinner tonight. Only if I host, of course, and present her with some Italian meal.”</p><p class="p1">That would explain the delicious smelling sauce. “And you’re doing it?”</p><p class="p1">I ask because he sounds far less thrilled than what his words are implying, and a quick glance to the counter tells me he already had a glass of something to drink.</p><p class="p1">“I’m trying to pick my battles,” he replies, pulling me into the space between his legs by my hips, “and there will be plenty of them tonight.”</p><p class="p1">“So this one is rather inconsequential?”</p><p class="p1">“Who doesn’t love a properly cooked Italian meal?” Harry shrugs, placing a kiss on my neck that lingers way longer than it should with Phillip inches away from us. “How was class, baby?”</p><p class="p1">His words sit directly in my ribcage, wrapping around each bone like they’re going to die there. I’m still not used to the domestic-ness he’s given me in between all of the formalities—the new suits, and the key given by the <em>doorman</em>, and Niall taking me to and from class, and the outfit I’m wearing right now costing more than Liam’s briefcase which at one point was the most expensive thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.</p><p class="p1">“Was cold called and didn’t mess up a single detail which is a bonus.”</p><p class="p1">“That is a bonus.”</p><p class="p1">“Also found out that we should probably start studying for the practice bar exam coming up in a few months which is not a bonus.”</p><p class="p1">“That is apparently not a bonus,” he says with a breathy laugh. “What will that entail?”</p><p class="p1">“A lot of practice books, a lot questions, a lot of studying so a fuck ton of my time. Might not have the leisure I do now.”</p><p class="p1">“Nothing comes before school,” he repeats my exact words from signing the contract. “Rest assured, I won’t have you come to anything with me if you’re busy with that. What will you need?”</p><p class="p1">I shake my head and start to protest. “No, no, there’s no need for that. I have money—“</p><p class="p1">“Louis—“</p><p class="p1">“I have the money, Harry, I can pay for my own books.”</p><p class="p1">“They’re going to be expensive if this semester's bill was anything to go by.”</p><p class="p1">“I have the leftover cash.”</p><p class="p1">“But without the job at the club—“</p><p class="p1">I press forward and kiss him in a way that I hope will tell him I’m really not here for the money, that he isn’t just worth that anymore for me, and I’m not sure that he ever was. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t understand that yet. I do.</p><p class="p1">“The mom fund,” is all I say when I pull away.</p><p class="p1">“The mom fund,” he repeats quietly, running a hand over my arm outstretched to rest on the counter. “Have you heard from Lottie?”</p><p class="p1">“Not yet,” I answer with a huff. “I’m not sure if I need to be worried about that.”</p><p class="p1">“It’ll be okay,” he replies with a hopeful look, but we’ve talked about this so much recently—how I won’t know what to do, how I can’t promise that I won’t go off the deep end after just starting to find my footing again after that visit.</p><p class="p1">“It will.”</p><p class="p1">“I have Violet and Vivian talking about getting us a couple of new suits,” he says in a change of tone that I appreciate.</p><p class="p1">“So I’ve heard.”</p><p class="p1">“We’re dressing to impress.”</p><p class="p1">I have the feeling it won’t matter, and will all be a disaster in the end.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">When I think of the first time I laid eyes on Harry, I think of all of the words running through my brain about the amount of money in his clothes, the amount of cash on his person, his arrogance and desire to claim something that wasn’t quite his.</p><p class="p1">Gemma Styles takes that and multiplies it tenfold.</p><p class="p1">She beats their father to Harry’s place, high heels clicking along the floor of the foyer as she shrugs off her leather coat and holds it out like someone is meant to take it.</p><p class="p1">Harry steps forward to grab it, placing it on the hook behind the door where my coat still sits from earlier today.</p><p class="p1">“You should get somebody for that,” she says passively and then starts to look around at the place.</p><p class="p1">Harry shoots me a look—is that one of fear?—and then walks with his hands folded in front of him behind her. I follow suit with both of them and honestly just keep my mouth shut.</p><p class="p1">I will say, though, that Gemma is fucking gorgeous.</p><p class="p1">They look alike—same bone structure, similar height, same eye color, same hair color. Different is the way her hair falls long and straight on her back, her hips filling out the skin-tight dress nicely, her ringless fingers perfectly manicured in deep red nail polish to match her outfit.</p><p class="p1">Harry coughs, walking backward until she’s looking at her. “How was your flight, Gemma?”</p><p class="p1">“Fine,” she says coldly, and then her hair swings regally as she turns to face me. “And you are?”</p><p class="p1">Harry answers, “I told you already,” at the same time I outstretch my hand and say, “Louis.”</p><p class="p1">She looks at my hand like I’m handing her a foreign object and then goes back to her surveying Harry’s belongings. “Louis, huh? I dated a Louis in Verona a few summers ago. He was an awful prick.”</p><p class="p1">I fold my lips in, nodding to myself and sliding my hands into my pocket.</p><p class="p1">Great. This is going great.</p><p class="p1">“Why don’t I get us some wine?” I ask in the awkward silence while I watch Gemma skate her fingers across surfaces in the living room like she’s checking for dust. “Is he your butler, Harry?” She asks completely serious.</p><p class="p1">I open my mouth to protest that, but I’m met by Harry’s hand on my shoulder shoving me towards the wine room. “No. He’s my—Louis and I are really good friends.”</p><p class="p1">Friends.</p><p class="p1">“Huh,” she replies with a click of her tongue, and really I couldn’t leave the room any sooner.</p><p class="p1">“Wow, I really can’t wait for your dad to get here,” I tell him once we’re out of earshot. “That’ll just complete the beauty of tonight. I mean, your butler? <em>Friends</em>?”</p><p class="p1">“What am I supposed to tell her?” He starts talking like he’s in a mock conversation while running his fingers over wine labels. “Yeah, Gems, this is Louis. I give him an allowance and he provides me with company.”</p><p class="p1">“You say it like we haven’t—“ I stop myself. There’s no need to finish that sentence right now. “You could’ve said partners.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry you’re offended by it,” he replies but it doesn’t sound like he really is. I roll my eyes in response, tapping my foot impatiently while he decides on which bottle to bring back.</p><p class="p1">“Just grab one of the Italian wines, Harry.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know what’ll go well with Phillip’s cooking.”</p><p class="p1">“Does it matter?” Both of us turn our heads toward the door when we hear Gemma’s voice start to talk to Phillip. I look back at him with a worried face. “Okay, yeah. It matters.”</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">We settle into dinner still without Harry’s father, and I’m secretly hoping he just doesn’t show up. It’s bad enough dealing with Gemma who finds a way to critique almost everything Harry does.</p><p class="p1">Like right now, while she’s biting into her pasta and asking a question like, “Could you not find an authentic Italian chef for this evening? It’s not every day a woman comes to visit her brother. You could’ve tried.”</p><p class="p1">I raise my head slowly, looking between both Harry and Gemma. Harry’s jaw clenches as he shrugs to the side and then goes to twirl pasta onto a fork.</p><p class="p1">“Let’s not pretend you’re really here to see me, Gemma,” he says with a shake of his head and then, “And no. I like my chef. There was no need for me to replace him this evening.”</p><p class="p1">“The food would be better that way.”</p><p class="p1">“The food is fine.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s a bit dry.”</p><p class="p1">He stabs his food aggressively. “Nothing is ever good enough for you, huh? Not New York City, not the business, not the chef or the food or my penthouse or me.”</p><p class="p1">She looks at him blankly like what he said didn’t register at all. “I’m just saying that I imagined your place a bit more lavish than this. You always took after Dad’s more gothic style, so I was shocked to see such modern design. It doesn’t fit.”</p><p class="p1">“Good thing you don’t have to live here,” he says condescendingly right before James’s voice cuts through the intercom to announce his father is here. Harry throws his napkin on the table, pushing the chair back and standing up suddenly. “I have to let him in.”</p><p class="p1">I watch him disappear, and then turn back towards my food, careful not to make direct eye contact with the ice queen across the table.</p><p class="p1">She talks to me anyway.</p><p class="p1">“What do you do, Louis?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m a law student.”</p><p class="p1">“A law student?” She asks with a raised eyebrow, and she drops her fork to listen. Apparently, she’s impressed. “What university?”</p><p class="p1">“Columbia.”</p><p class="p1">“Columbia,” Gemma repeats. “That school is awfully prestigious.”</p><p class="p1">“A lot of competition.”</p><p class="p1">“I do understand competition. I attended a fashion institute in Milan.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yeah,” I breathe out, “I bet that would be competitive.”</p><p class="p1">“Cut throat. I learned how to contain my emotions very quickly.”</p><p class="p1">That would explain a lot of things.</p><p class="p1">The voice of their father cuts through the room, deep and booming and bouncing off the walls. Gemma stands up at the sound, and I follow suit in sake of being polite (and not being the easy target as the only one still sitting). I smooth my hands over my suit in the off chance there’s a kink from sitting, taking a deep breath as they both walk into the room.</p><p class="p1">His dad doesn’t look in my direction at first, simply kissing both of Gemma’s cheeks in excitement and expressing how beautiful she looks, how much she’s grown.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Then he looks at me. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Louis," he says, outstretching a hand. "I didn't expect to see you here." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Here I am," I say with a nervous laugh, shaking his hand and sitting down when the rest do. I look over at Harry at the head of the table, and he raises his eyebrow with a smirk, subtly raising a glass to me. I smile, raising it back and then diving into my meal. </span>
</p><p class="p1">That serves me well, keeping quiet. The conversation dominantly centers around Gemma and her ventures--how she met a man she's thinking of marrying, how she recently launched a line meant exclusively for businesswomen that's doing well abroad, how she's really here because she has a show this weekend, how she's househunting around the Almafi Coast. It's what's Gemma doing, and how Gemma's doing, and this and that about Gemma. It's miraculous how much can be about one person who barely wanted contact with the family. </p><p class="p1">The conversation doesn't turn to Harry until the drinks are flowing, his father down four glasses of high-end whiskey, Gemma and Harry on a few glasses of wine. I'm stone cold sober save for the one glass of wine I had with them at dinner out of fear that I would start doing anything I regret. </p><p class="p1">I have the feeling that these two wouldn't be forgiving. </p><p class="p1">Gemma seems uneasy while Harry and his father talk business, dabbing at her mouth with the napkin, taking longer sips, avoiding actual eye contact with either of them. I assume that's because she didn't want to be part of it and ran as fast as she could in the other direction. Not that I really blame here. It's not like Harry seems ectastic about his current and future positions all of the time. </p><p class="p1"><em>Someone has to carry on the legacy</em>, I remember him saying. </p><p class="p1">Obligation is different than desire. </p><p class="p1">His father is nearly slurring his words when he looks in my direction. "What do you do for a living, Louis?" </p><p class="p1">Harry gets up after he asks the question and announces he'll go ask Phillip when dessert will be ready. I curse him for leaving me here for the lions. </p><p class="p1">"He's in law school," Gemma says, bringing the almost empty glass up to her lips. She's drunk, too, but she's at least poised about it. </p><p class="p1">"Law school? That's an upgrade from Harry's usual prospects. Must want a challenge this time around." </p><p class="p1">"Harry's usual prospects?" I ask, and maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe I really don't want to know. </p><p class="p1">"Surely you're aware that you're just one of many boys floating in and out of Harry's life. There was that Nathan boy a while ago, Nick with the paint brushes, Jacob with the bloosoming acting career, Brian trying to start a band, and the list goes on and on. He picks the ones who need the most help, the one's he feels the most <em>sorry</em> for. It entertains him to keep someone dependent him, throw them out when they bore him." </p><p class="p1">"I wasn't aware Harry had such a rich dating history," Gemma says, but she sounds like she's gloating, standing on her high pedestal of being engagaed to a man she's been with for a while. </p><p class="p1">"You should see all of the file folders in his office," his father chuckles, pouring more liquor into his glass he definitely doesn't need.</p><p class="p1">"File folders?" Gemma asks, and my food is starting to chew a hole in my stomach. I'm regretting not getting shit faced wasted. </p><p class="p1">"File folders," he nods, smirking playfully at me in the most disturbing way. "His name is nothing but another notch in the bed post, and he thinks he's special, I bet. You think you're special, Louis? That you'll be the one that will change his life? I'll tell you what, son, so did Nick, and Jacob, and Brian, and anyone else who came before you." </p><p class="p1">"I come bearing dessert," Harry's voice says behind me, not even realizing what he's walking into.</p><p class="p1">His father and I don't take our eyes off of each other. </p><p class="p1">I don't back down from a challenge. </p><p class="p1">"Do I threaten you?" I ask, cocking my head to the side as I start to sit forward, Harry plobbing a plate down in front of me and looking between us. In the corner of my eye, Gemma reaches for the bottle of wine, quietly thanks Harry for the dessert (and for the first time tonight, might I add). </p><p class="p1">"What's going on here?" Harry asks. </p><p class="p1">I don't look over at him, eyes firm on his father while I speak. "I was just asking your father if he's threatened by me. He has to be something considering how obsessed he is with your romantic life." </p><p class="p1">"Maybe we shouldn't have this conversation right now," Gemma says, and her tone is so different. She must not like direct confrontation. Or I've hit a nerve. </p><p class="p1">"I have nothing to be threatened by." </p><p class="p1">"Nothing, huh?" I raise my eyebrow, sitting back in my chair and copying a stance I've seen my professors take multiple times while they play the roll of a defense attorney sardonically grilling us on the bench, trying to make us sweat. "I'll admit that I don't know much about your son. I don't pry, I don't expect more out of him than what he's willing to give. It doesn't, however, take a mastermind to figure out the dynamics here. I walked in on you and Harry that day. I saw you lay your hands on him in a way that suggests that wasn't the first time. It was natural for you. It was a habit. I know about your wife--" </p><p class="p1">"Don't say anything about my wife," his father starts, his tone growing more angry. </p><p class="p1">"I know how you left him to deal with that by himself--" </p><p class="p1">"Louis--" Harry's voice. </p><p class="p1">"What?" Gemma's voice. "Harry, what is talking about?" </p><p class="p1">My voice. "You're intimidated by me because I'm still here in the ways that you don't know how. I know how to care for your son. You don't. In fact, I'm not sure you've cared for Harry. He was just the man you needed to take on the company when Gemma left. Wasn't he?" </p><p class="p1">"You don't know what you're talking about." </p><p class="p1">"Dad, what is he talking about?" Gemma's voice again. "Can someone please tell me what he's talking about?" </p><p class="p1">"Louis--" Harry's voice again, and I can hear the nervousness in his voice. </p><p class="p1">"I am different than Harry's past prospects. You're right. I take the time to get to know him, I take the time to understand him even if he makes that impossible sometimes. You're threatened by that because you never could, because you don't want to." </p><p class="p1">His father stands up abruptly, spilling the drink in his hand all over the table and pointing at me aggressively. "You have some nerve." </p><p class="p1">Looks like I've surely pressed one. </p><p class="p1">"Dad, sit down," Harry says sternly. </p><p class="p1">"I'm not doing anything until this prick is gone." </p><p class="p1">I wait with a cocky smile to hear Harry tell him to leave. I wait for seconds that turn to minutes that start to feel like hours. My smile starts to fade, his dad looking smug, and I turn to look down at Harry who isn't looking at either of us. </p><p class="p1">"Harry?" I ask quietly. </p><p class="p1">"Louis, you need to go," Harry says under his breath, eyes fixated on his lap.</p><p class="p1">"What?" Is he really kicking <em>me </em>out right now? The one who just sat here and defended him? "You can't be--" </p><p class="p1">"Louis," he repeats, looking up at me, his lips pursed together in a way that I recognize them when something isn't going even little bit to plan. "Please." </p><p class="p1">I stay sitting for a minute until I can feel the uncomfortable tension growing, pressing into my bones and forcing me to stand up. My knees hit the table, the plates rattling and the glass nearly tipping over. </p><p class="p1">I leave wondering what the fuck went wrong. </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Niall drops me off in Central Park, and I tuck myself on a bench in the middle of the trees. </p><p class="p1">Maybe I should've kept my mouth shut, maybe I should've just let it go. It's not like I have any skin in this game, but it's also not like I was going to let him pick me apart at that table. </p><p class="p1">There is a lingering part of me that can't his words out of my mind, though. What if Harry's purpose really is to strip me bare in the end? It's not like it would take much at this point. I feel like I already sacrificed myself the moment I decided to put my name down despite all of the internal voices telling me it was a dumb idea. </p><p class="p1">But then I think about the way he looks at me when he lets himself, and how easily his name falls off of my lips, and how he never used to let me touch him when we had sex but now his flinches are barely noticeable, and that has to mean something, right? It has to mean something. </p><p class="p1">The rain starts to fall around me, and I don't have an umbrella or a jacket, and I don't think I care. </p><p class="p1">I just don't want to go back to my apartment and back into my life with Zayn pumping music through the speakers and doing cocaine off of our coffee table with the crack in the leg because someone fell onto it during one of the parties, and I don't want to go back into my bedroom and trick myself into reading for class when really all I'm doing is thinking about if I didn't choose Columbia, I would be back at home with my mom, and she wouldn't have to make me go because I wouldn't have anywhere <em>to </em>go, and I wouldn't be sitting in the office of the club trying to secure a job to help pay for the medical bills because I wouldn't have school to pay for too, and I wouldn't be sitting here right now because I wouldn't have met Harry. I wouldn't have been seduced by the smile and the eyes and the cockiness that tucked us away in his stupidly excessive penthouse hotel suite chasing highs and orgasms.</p><p class="p1">"God, I need a joint," I say outloud, tipping my head back and letting the droplets hit my face. </p><p class="p1">"I'm not sure a joint would light in this weather." </p><p class="p1">I look over in the direction of the voice, finding Harry standing there with his hands in his pockets and also no jacket or umbrella. His hair is soaked, and so are his clothes. It's almost like he walked the entire way here. </p><p class="p1">"How did you find me?"</p><p class="p1">"Niall," he answers, nodding towards the open spot next to me on the bench. "Can I sit down?" </p><p class="p1">I could say no. I could. "Yeah." </p><p class="p1">He sits down, hunched over because of the cold and the wet, sniffling slightly. "My dad is an asshole." </p><p class="p1">"Yeah," I scoff, flicking my hair off my forehead. "You're kind of an asshole, too, for not standing by me up there." </p><p class="p1">"Look, Louis, I--" </p><p class="p1">"No," I cut him off. "I'm just a little bit confused right now because I thought I was starting to figure you out just a little bit. We've settled into this routine lately that's felt a little..." My voice tappers off, and I shake my head down at the glistening concrete to try and put into words how I feel. I take a deep breath. "I don't want to do this if we aren't in it for the same reason, so tell me now if I'm out of my mind or if I'm not alone in this." </p><p class="p1">Harry doesn't say anything, but he reaches into his coat pocket, and he pulls out a folded stack of papers to set on my lap. </p><p class="p1">I look down at them, watching the rain start to reveal the ink on the other side as I unfold the pages with my cold and shaky fingers. He's taking off his suit jacket as I do, resting it over my shoulders, and it feels like some kind of sick joke when I realize that the contract is sitting on my lap, our signatures in clear ink in all of the places I remember signing. </p><p class="p1">"What do you want me to do with this?" I ask, flicking through the slippery pieces of paper. </p><p class="p1">"Destroy it." </p><p class="p1">Yeah, definitely a sick joke. I start to shrug off his suit jacket, talking at a rapid fire pace. "Okay, I've got my answer then, and you're such an asshole for doing it like this in the middle of the fucking rain like this is some sort of dramatic moment in a movie--" </p><p class="p1">"So you're not going to destroy it?" He says right over top of me, reaching for it and standing up. "I'll do it myself, then." </p><p class="p1">And he does, his fingers working easily to shred the soaking wet pages right in front of my face, and it's hitting me a lot harder than I thought it would. All of this time, all of this energy, expended, burned, tore apart right here in the middle of Central Park at god knows what time while it's pouring rain. </p><p class="p1">I sniffle, wiping at my cheeks and I don't know if I'm crying or if it's just the rain. "I'll just--I'll call Niall and have him pick me up and then I'll tell him that that's the last time." </p><p class="p1">"Louis--"</p><p class="p1">"There's no point in me standing here and continuing to look like an absolute fucking idiot." </p><p class="p1">"Louis, would you sit back down?" He asks, a serious look on his face when he points towards the bench. </p><p class="p1">I sit down, and he follows next to me. The energy seems to change as he's staring down at his knees, bouncing a leg, moving a hand through his hair. I don't know what's going on, but I do know that Harry doesn't back down often. He's powerful, and he's stubborn, and he's filthy rich, and even in this moment when I'm not sure to laugh or cry or punch him square in the face he's absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. </p><p class="p1">He doesn't back down often, and yet right now he looks small. So small like I could pick him up and fold him up and stuff him into my pocket. His posture is less confident, his left hand fiddling with with the rings on the right, and he’s making himself so impossible to read yet so blatantly obvious, I think, and why are the best moments always the most complicated in the end?</p><p>The rain soaked through his dress shirt by now, and he’s starting to shiver, but to blame the weather for that would be ignorant when this feels like something else.</p><p>Harry finally raises his head, rounding his shoulders back like he does before he goes into a big meeting, yet when he opens his mouth, his voice is quivering.</p><p>“I never intended to fall in love with you, Louis Tomlinson,” he says.</p><p>And it all clicks into place.</p><p>"Harry--" </p><p>"I never intended to fall in love with you, and that is one of the scariest things in this entire world. I've done a lot in my life, and I've taken a lot of chances. Gambled a lot of money, taken a lot of things I shouldn't have, chased the wrong people, let the right people go, and I'm done." He looks at me. Looks right at me. "I did defend you up there. I just didn't want you upstairs in case anything else was said that shouldn't be. You have enough on your plate, and my father can really get under a person's skin. I mean, he got under mine, and I never thought I would let that happen. Plus, you were right about what you said. How he doesn't know how to care for me like that. I think what you really wanted to say is that he doesn't love me the way that you can. Or the way that you're trying to because I know I make it damn hard, just--" I laugh breathlessly, look at him endearingly. "--come home with me. Please? Just fuck the contract and the rules and everything and come home with me. Please, Louis." </p><p>I bring my hand up to his face, brushing the wet hair off of his forehead and craddling his cheek in my palm.</p><p>"You love me?" I ask, and my voice sounds almost as small as his did. </p><p>"I love you," he repeats, "and I'm sorry." </p><p>I press my finger to his lips. "I love you is good enough." </p><p>"Okay," he nods, breath hot against my probably-frozen-by-now finger. </p><p>"Okay," I nod, and then I remember where we are and the absurdity of this and add, "I think this would the part where the camera zooms in really closely to our faces and you kiss me all passionately." </p><p>"Oh yeah?" He asks, a smile tugging back on his lips, and I don't even have have enough time to answer before his lips are on mine. </p><p class="p1">I swear the world quiets down just for a minute. </p><p class="p1">And then my phone rings. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>angst times two but also some bonding moments</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i wrote this one to what sarah says by death cab for cutie... </p><p>i'm sorry</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I wonder if the other hospital rooms have timelines.</p><p class="p1">An old woman sleeps alone with the blue light of a television highlighting her face, a young girl with too many IVs in her arm sleeps while her parents are fighting it in favor to watch, a man talking on the phone while he sits up in bed and looks like he’s bracing for bad news.</p><p class="p1">Maybe they don’t know their timelines yet. Maybe they know they’ll be going home, and maybe they know this room is the last room they’ll see before the heart monitor flatlines.</p><p class="p1">It feels like a cruel joke to have four rooms with darkness seeping into the hallway leading to the one with the light on.</p><p class="p1">I hear the sound of voices as Harry and I walk closer.</p><p class="p1">My mom’s timeline reached the end.</p><p class="p1">My feet stop moving a whole door before her room like there’s a glass barrier in front of me that I can’t cross. Harry hits my shoulder from behind, clearly not registering that I stopped moving.</p><p class="p1">I shake my head, my blood pressure rising as I feel the tears I’ve managed to keep at bay this whole time start to burn my eyes. I can’t do this.</p><p class="p1">“I can’t,” I breathe out in a whisper. “Harry, I can’t do this. I can’t see her like this. I can’t—“</p><p class="p1">He rests his hands on my shoulders, rubbing lightly over my jacket. His touch doesn’t soothe me. I’m not really sure if anything will.</p><p class="p1">“Louis,” he says into my ear, a soft kiss placed on my cheek. “You have to.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t have to. We can turn around, we can go back to New York, I can pretend this isn’t happening. I can’t go in there. It’s too real, it’s too—“</p><p class="p1">I cut myself off with my own crying, a sharp sob leaving my lips before I can register it’s happening. Harry moves in front of me, his strong arms pulling me into his body. I burrow my head into his clothes, not caring about the way his coat is still cold from being outside or how he smells like rain and panic after we had Niall take us straight from Central Park to the airport.</p><p class="p1">Another hand is on my back, rubbing softly near my neck while Harry’s are resting lower.</p><p class="p1">“He’s not doing well,” Harry says to the other person.</p><p class="p1">“Lou,” Lottie says to me. “She wants to see you.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know how to do this.”</p><p class="p1">“You do,” she tells me soothingly. “You’ll regret it if you don’t come in.”</p><p class="p1">Another voice I recognize as my father’s adds to the conversation, a subtle “Lottie” that tells me exactly what I need to know. It took us some time to get here and now I can’t buy that back.</p><p class="p1">“Lou,” she tries again, and this time I listen.</p><p class="p1">We walk slowly to the room, Harry’s hand sliding down to intertwine with mine and this is the first time it’s felt as natural as I knew it could be. He gives me a small nod of encouragement before we turn into the room, and I nod back, take a deep breath.</p><p class="p1">My mom looks how I expected her to when I round the corner—her favorite comfy outfit resting too big on her body, a collection of blankets on her legs, miscellaneous items scattered about that I know meant a lot to her. I didn’t think to bring anything, but I don’t dwell on that too much.</p><p class="p1">Her arm with the various IV lines and a blood pressure cuff outstretches for my hand, a weak smile on her face that looks like too much effort for her pale and cracked lips. Harry tries to let go of my hand as I walk forward to grab hers, but I signal to him that I want him with me. I need him with me.</p><p class="p1">“My baby boy,” she says, voice hoarse and cracking slightly.</p><p class="p1">“I made it,” I say, trying to play it off that I don’t want to shrink down to nothing.</p><p class="p1">“You made it.” Her head turns slightly. “You brought my angel, too.”</p><p class="p1">“I brought your angel,” I agree, resting my other hand on top of hers when the nurse walks in.</p><p class="p1">“We’ve made her as comfortable as possible,” she tells us, leaning over the bed to undo the blood pressure cuff and start to take off the EKG wires. The room is silent in anticipation. “I’m going to take off these uncomfortable wires, Jay, but I’ll leave the IV in to help numb the pain.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re a darling, Rose,” my mom says to her, and Rose smiles down at her and then back up at us.</p><p class="p1">My father steps closer to the bed, resting his hands on top of her legs. “Sweetheart, tell Louis what you told us before he came.” She looks at him like she doesn’t remember, but he prompts her softly. “You said you wanted to talk to him before you slept.”</p><p class="p1">Before she slept sounds a lot nicer than before she dies. I don’t know if she actually said that or if my father needed to think of it that way to ease the blow.</p><p class="p1">My mom looks like she remembered, nodding and turning her head so she’s resting a cheek on the pillow and looking adoringly up at me.</p><p class="p1">“My sweetest boy,” she starts, and I can already tell that I’m not going to be able to stop myself from crying. “I remember when you were born, how you were always chasing something. When you crawled, you wanted to walk. When you walked, you wanted to run. You’re a spitfire, you’re the reason I would be exhausted at night but still wanted to walk up early because I didn’t want to miss even a second.” She takes a deep breath, and everyone takes a step forward. She brushes them off with a smile, her voice settling to a lower hush. “Promise me that you’ll never stop chasing but also that you’ll sit and take it in every once in a while. It passes fast, trust me.” Her hand squeezes mine. “Promise me, Lou.”</p><p class="p1">A single tear slides down my cheek, tracing its way down my chin and my neck. “I promise, Mom.”</p><p class="p1">“And you take care of him,” she adds to Harry, and that makes me laugh through the sob I’m holding back, lightens up the room.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll do my best,” Harry tells her behind me, a hand tightening on my shoulder as her breathing starts to slow, her eyes becoming heavier.</p><p class="p1">I let my father take the hand resting in my palm out of courtesy for their love story, stepping back just an inch or two and molding back into Harry. Lottie looks at me from across the hospital bed, a knowing look of grief flickering on her face and mirroring my own. The twins are huddled close to her, watching my mom intently.</p><p class="p1">It only takes a few minutes.</p><p class="p1">A few peaceful, raging minutes to close fifty years.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">The next week passes slowly. </p><p class="p1">Harry flew back to New York City to pack up his things, stopped by my and Zayn's apartment to pick up some things of mine. I sent more emails and called more professors than I ever have in my life. All of them were accommodating, filling my inbox with various forms of <em>I'm sorry for your loss</em> and grants for extensions. I don't think I want to read those words ever again. </p><p class="p1">And as I stand here at the door of the funeral home as people pour in for the visitation, I don't think I want to hear those words ever again either. </p><p class="p1">Lottie and my sisters are in the middle of a conversation with my aunt and uncle, and Harry's standing behind me as a single file line comes in to sign the guest book and then offer me some type of condolence. Sign, talk, sign, talk. I'm nearly numb with thanking them, agreeing that she was a wonderful woman, answering questions about what I'm up to lately and introducing Harry. </p><p class="p1">I don't recognize half of the people that claim to recognize me, and I surely don't have anything to talk about. </p><p class="p1">Isn't it strange how we feel the need to insert small talk in the face of death? </p><p class="p1">It would easier to express empathy, walk by the casket in a moment of personal respect, and then sit down or leave. There's no need to find me afterward, inquire about law school, my boyfriend standing behind me, what my plans are for the rest of my life. Death is a thing that stands on its own and doesn't require cheap filler. </p><p class="p1">"Have you seen my father?" I ask Harry during a lull in the long, continuous line of people. This tie is starting to suffocate me, so I reach up to tug it off of my neck only to realize that it's barely touching my skin. </p><p class="p1">"I've been with you," he says in response, "so no." </p><p class="p1">"Shit," I say only a little worried that it's almost time for the priest to speak and then the family and he's nowhere to be found. "He needs to be here." </p><p class="p1">"Try asking the girls, maybe?" </p><p class="p1">I nod, bringing him with me when I carefully approach my sisters in their conversation circle. I smile at them all politely. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but can I steal Lottie for a moment?" </p><p class="p1">"Absolutely, dear," my Aunt Florence coos, touching my forearm warmly.</p><p class="p1">Lottie excuses herself, dropping her voice to a whisper when she's off in a corner with Harry and I. "What's going on?" </p><p class="p1">"Where's dad?" </p><p class="p1">"You haven't seen him?" She takes a deep breath, suddenly looking extremely stressed. "I was about two minutes away from sending Daisy over to ask you if you'd seen him." </p><p class="p1">"No," I shake my head, "and Harry hasn't either. I'm a little bit concerned because of the speech." </p><p class="p1">"The speech," she agrees. </p><p class="p1">Harry dips his body into our space, looking between us while he speaks. "Lou, why don't you go look for him? I can stay with Lottie if she doesn't mind." </p><p class="p1">"I don't," Lottie says quickly. "You should talk to him anyways, Louis." </p><p class="p1">I look at her like it's the last thing I want to do, but she's probably right. My father and I haven't had a chance to talk in a long time, and his avoidance of the planning, of the funeral, of everything outside of sitting in his study and staring, isn't exactly sitting right with me. I would never try to take my father's place, but sometimes it felt like I had to. These past few days have been no different. </p><p class="p1">"I'll look for him," I say affirmingly, and Harry kisses my cheek before I go. </p><p class="p1">I shift through what seems like a never-ending sea of people before I notice that the backdoor to the funeral home is ajar. I consider this to probably be at the hands of someone who works here until I realize that the location seems untouched, and my father's disappearance corresponding with this moment is likely not a coincidence. The door creaks slightly when I open it, causes him to turn his head slightly over his shoulder to more clearly hear the voice of the visitor and not necessarily see them. He has a collection of gravel in his hands as he sits on the concrete staircase leading to the parking lot. A dumpster on our left feels out of place, especially considering its green features make it look like it belongs on a playground and not in a place where youth does not exist. </p><p class="p1">My mouth opens when I finally get the courage, and even then all I can say is, "Dad?" </p><p class="p1">"Oh, Louis," he replies. "I thought maybe you were Uncle Fred."</p><p class="p1">"Goodness no," I slightly laugh in reply. My dad is always trying to avoid his brother who spends way too much time talking about baseball whenever he's in an uncomfortable situation. That or his third wife who specializes in bug identification and has a giant ant farm in the middle of their living room. "They're getting ready to do the speeches in there." </p><p class="p1">"The speeches," he echoes, and I hear his tone as Lottie's from only moments before. Traces of us in each other's veins. "I've been preparing for this moment for a long time, and I..." He drops the gravel, and I get the inclination to sit down next to him. "Well," he breathes out sadly, "I just don't know what to say." </p><p class="p1">"You don't have to have a grand speech planned. She wouldn't have liked that anyway. Would probably find a way to joke about you stealing all of the attention even from the grave." </p><p class="p1">He laughs, hanging his head while he reaches for more gravel. "I tried to give her a romantic proposal speech, did you know that?" </p><p class="p1">I've heard this story, but for the sake of circumstance, I'll claim ignorance. "I didn't." </p><p class="p1">"Yeah, it was--We were walking on a beach. The sun setting beautifully. I had been carrying around that tiny little ring in whatever pocket I had available to me for weeks just waiting for the right moment, and that was it."</p><p class="p1">My father raises his head to look over at me, a nostalgic smile on his face. “I started to give some grandiose speech, and she stopped me right in the middle and told me to just cut to the chase. She said I knew what I wanted, and there was no reason for all of this background noise. We only had a few years behind us then. No house, no set careers, no fights, no kids. It was easier to cut to the chase then. Now I feel like there’s just too much to say.”</p><p class="p1">I look at him understandingly, dropping the gravel I had in my hand and cleaning off my palms. “Sometimes I feel like I should’ve visited more.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, Lou,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “She wouldn’t have wanted that either. We all know how hard you worked for Columbia. You belong in New York.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” I agree with a sigh, staring straight ahead at the collection of pine trees glimmering with melted snow in the sunlight. There are rows and rows of cars blocking the otherwise straight shot of the forest in the back. Mom probably would’ve complained about the obstruction. “I miss her.”</p><p class="p1">“Me too, son,” he says softly, leaning over to place a kiss in my heap of hair. “Me too.”</p><p class="p1">It’s the first time he’s expressed affection like that in a long, long time. The warmth of fatherly love running through my veins feels briefly foreign but nice. I could get used to it.</p><p class="p1">“We should probably go inside.”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t want to keep Father John waiting,” he agrees with a laugh, pushing himself up off the concrete. I start to stand up too, stopping in motion when he turns around and says my name. “I’m proud of you too, you know? I know you and I don’t exactly talk, but it’s true. I’m proud to introduce you as my son, and all my friends at work—Well, they hear a lot about you.”</p><p class="p1">I grip the steel railing next to me, nodding like the inside of my body isn’t doing cartwheels at the validation.</p><p class="p1">“Thank you, dad.”</p><p class="p1">He nods back, smoothing out his tie and heading inside. She would’ve liked to see that moment.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">Harry and I are upstairs after the crowd finally dissipates from my house, tucked into my old childhood bedroom with a tin of cookies in between us while we sit on my bed with our backs against the wall.</p><p class="p1">It’s exactly how I left it—meticulously clean so my mom wouldn’t have to worry about it when she came inside, posters still taped to the walls and the angled ceiling, my books on law I used to read for leisure stacked up on the small bookcase across the room. We stayed at a hotel most of this week, but I wanted to be here for the last night.</p><p class="p1">“You grow up in a place like this?” I ask him, reaching for a chocolate cookie with an Oreo in the middle.</p><p class="p1">“I think you know the answer to that,” he replies with a joking tone, grabbing one with a Hersey Kiss in the middle. “I’m jealous of you.”</p><p class="p1">“Jealous of <em>me</em>?”</p><p class="p1">Harry nods, wiping at the crumbs around his mouth. “I never had this total family feel, the bedroom with the personalization, the sisters wanting to spend time with you. We kept everything minimalist—the decorations, the bonding, the talking.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s sad. I consider this bedroom one of my favorite parts of growing up. Even when you start to change as a person, there are little parts of the past still stuck somewhere amongst the rest.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe I’ll go back and shove a poster on my wall.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe you should.” I smile at him after I say it, imagining him sticking a band poster on the walls of his elegant penthouse bedroom. “Here, let me show you my favorite part of this room and also the part that got me in the most trouble.”</p><p class="p1">I stand up and walk across the room to the window, prying it open with the strength I have left and lifting up the screen. He looks at me like I’m crazy for it, but I wave a hand over and fold my body in to climb out of it. The roof is relatively flat on this side and leads right down to the roof above the patio in the backyard. It was an easy escape route.</p><p class="p1">“You just hung out on your roof?”</p><p class="p1">“All of the time,” I nod, sitting down in my old spot and tapping the empty space next to me for him to sit. “This is how I would sneak out, sneak guys in.”</p><p class="p1">“Sneak guys in, huh?” He sits down next to me, crossing his legs at the ankle.</p><p class="p1">“Oh yeah,” I chuckle at the memory. “Only the best ones too, you know. The ones who weren’t even into guys, who were just curious players on various varsity teams. If they were hot and willing, I was down.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure you converted them.”</p><p class="p1">“Definitely made them confused.” I look out at the backyard, taking in the swing set sitting underneath a tree, the various types of balls strewn about that weren’t picked up before winter and then left to thaw in the spring. “My mom caught me one time. That’s how she figured out I was gay. I was going down on some guy and it was super embarrassing. She never brought it up in specifics but definitely started talking to me about guys more.”</p><p class="p1">Harry laughs. “Lucky you.”</p><p class="p1">“Your parents weren’t cool with it?” That would surprise me considering his father’s ability to talk about it. Not in a favorable way, of course, but also not in a way that would indicate he’s blatantly homophobic.</p><p class="p1">“They were cool with it, but it always felt like they wanted that sort of domestic male and female life for me. One where I’d go to fancy meetings and have a trophy wife.”</p><p class="p1">“Guess you’ll have to settle for a trophy husband one day.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, I guess I will,” he says, looking over at me in a way that makes me want to change the subject. Luckily, he does it for me, turning his head away and resting a hand on top of mine. “It’ll get easier, Lou.”</p><p class="p1">“Will it?”</p><p class="p1">“It will. I think it was a few months for me before the world would stop feeling like it was moving so slow. Plus, I was alone. You aren’t. You’ve got your family and your friends and me.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I do have you, don't I?" I ask, resting my head on his shoulder and intertwining my arms with his closest one. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He kisses the top of my head and then rests his on top of mine, scooting closer until we're practically on top of each other. I just want to keep molding and molding and molding until I'm no longer just me and he's no longer just him and we're just us. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You do." </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>also it's true that i might be bumping up the chapter count... so don't freak too hard about the 25 &lt;3 it's just there for a placeholder xo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>louis has a small moment... or one of a bunch</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>omg thank you guys so much for 2900 hits! absolutely insane!! </p><p>the next chapter will have a lil spice so look out for that one</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">As it turns out, the depression I felt before my mom died was only a mere glance into the headspace I’d be in after.</p><p class="p1">Harry’s claim that the world goes by more slowly was only relevant to him because my version won’t stop turning, each day falling out of my grasp before I can sink my nails into it.</p><p class="p1">Today is a day that feels like a black hole.</p><p class="p1">I’m alone in the penthouse and have been for the past couple of days. Harry had to go away on business to the west coast somewhere I can’t remember at this point, and I was in no position to go. I hadn’t caught up with my classwork when he asked if I’d be able to come, and I’m still not done even a week or so after that moment. Plus there’s the stupid bar exam that makes me question why I even decided to go into law in the first place.</p><p class="p1">I’m not sure I’ve slept properly in days.</p><p class="p1">Niall took me back to my apartment to grab a few books I forgot yesterday, and I had Gigi meet me at the apartment so I could buy some more coke off of her. I tried to stay off of it as long as possible after we got back to New York, but it’s the only way I can fight the crippling need for me to crawl into bed and shut out the entire world.</p><p class="p1">I have things to do, people who are depending on me, a practice bar exam to pass. I can’t exactly afford to be out of it.</p><p class="p1">So I reach for the bag I set down on the table next to me as I’m tucked away in Harry’s office, gently pouring some down onto the table that always has powder residue from the time I did this hours ago, line it up, and snort.</p><p class="p1">I tip my head back after I’m done, wiping gently at it. There’s no bleeding, so I know I can do this again in another bit of time.</p><p class="p1">I’ve tried coffee, I’ve tried energy drinks, I’ve tried taking B-Vitamins and loading up on sugar, but nothing comes close to this kind of energy.</p><p class="p1">“Alright,” I say to myself, tapping my feet rapidly underneath the table while I click over to the next practice exam. “Exam number four.”</p><p class="p1">It opens with a section on the logic that I speed through relatively quickly, fingers typing faster than I thought possible.</p><p class="p1">My mind tries to wander—my mother, Harry, seeing her in the hospital bed, my sister calling me, the first time we noticed something was going on, her reaction to Harry, Harry’s reaction to her, how she’s not here to witness the fact that I’ve finally found someone just like we used to talk about all of those years.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck this,” I announce, closing the laptop. The test isn’t timed and nor is it pinnacle that I finish this right now. I crumble up the piece of paper I used to brainstorm ideas on and tossed it down to the ground with the rest.</p><p class="p1">Like I said, my nose hasn’t bled yet.</p><p class="p1">One more line for the books.</p><p class="p1">I stand up to pace around the room and stretch my legs, running and tapping my fingers along anything with a flat surface. If I keep my senses stimulated enough, everything else will simply fade away.</p><p class="p1">We’re in the crux of April, so the air conditioning isn’t on it, and nor is it cold enough for the heat, but the huge windows scattered all over Harry’s place aren’t exactly conducive for opening. I settle on trekking across the hall with the intention of going to sit on the patio off of the master bedroom, pausing when I hit the top of the stairs.</p><p class="p1">“Phillip?” I call down, and the distant bang I hear tells even me that he’s likely too involved to notice I’m calling for him. I walk a couple of steps over the intercom instead. “Phillip?”</p><p class="p1">A few seconds pass before he says, “What can I do for you, Mr. Tomlinson?”</p><p class="p1">“What’s the status of lunch today?”</p><p class="p1">“On pause,” he answers much to my dismay. “Mr. Styles called to say he’ll be arriving shortly and wanted me to wait to serve you both.”</p><p class="p1">I can’t argue with that. Dating or under contract, I don’t have the jurisdiction quite yet to override Harry’s request. I’m not even sure Phillip would listen to me, to be frank. He always seems afraid to lose his job whenever I counter Harry’s food desires despite the fact Harry never cares.</p><p class="p1">“Harry’s coming home soon?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” I say slowly, thanking him before I take my finger off the button and start talking to myself. “I don’t think—Did he text and say he was on his way? I didn’t even know he left the meeting location.”</p><p class="p1">I take my phone out of my pocket, the lines briefly blurring together before focusing, and I squint to read the slew of text messages coming in.</p><p class="p1">He did text me.</p><p class="p1">One <em>I’m leaving San Francisco now. Should be back in a few hours. Miss you, Louis. </em>followed by <em>Lawerence just picked me up, so I’ll only be a half-hour or so. I called Phillip to push lunch back. Figured you were lost in your studying, which I hope is going well.</em></p><p class="p1">I type back a quick <em>just saw these, babe, sorry. phillip let me know. hurry home so we can eat and bc i miss you </em>before landing myself on his patio.</p><p class="p1">God, it feels so fucking good to be in the sun.</p><p class="p1">I don’t know how long I’m sitting there, head tipped back with my eyes shut as I’m soaking it in when Harry finally arrives. I hear him drop his bags on the ground in the near distance, the clink of his rings hitting the end table. He’s probably changing into something more comfortable as he does after a day of traveling.</p><p class="p1">His shadow blocks the light, and I open my eyes, finding him looking down at me with his sunglasses on, a loose button-up with a pair of loose pants fitting for this sort of weather. The tattoos on his chest are prominent on his exposed skin, begging for me to run my fingers over them for the hundredth time.</p><p class="p1">I missed him.</p><p class="p1">“Hi, baby,” I hum happily, reaching for him to join me in the chair definitely big enough for two because my limbs are starting to feel like heavy, drug-ridden weights. That’s what I get for deciding to relax. I should’ve just pushed through.</p><p class="p1">Harry doesn’t move.</p><p class="p1">“You destroyed my office.”</p><p class="p1">Oh, right. The office. That I meant to clean before he got back, and then didn’t.</p><p class="p1">“Hi to you too,” I mutter, sitting up more formerly for the conversation. “Time slipped away from me.”</p><p class="p1">“Apparently,” he replies unhappily. “Phillip said you barely ate while I was gone.”</p><p class="p1">He’s talked to Phillip? How long has he been here?</p><p class="p1">“I was studying,” I say at the same time he says, “<em>And </em>you’ve barely slept given the way the bed was made the way <em>I </em>made it before I left and the number of papers in <em>my </em>office strewn about on the floor, on the table, crumbled up in the corners next to the various cups tin foil wrappers and books stacked all over the place.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re extremely observant,” I note with a hint of laughter in my voice that’s both defensive and coated in a coke high. “That’s impressive. Have you considered going into law?”</p><p class="p1">He rolls his eyes. “Louis, I’m serious.”</p><p class="p1">“Serious about what?” I stand up to match his stature, taking a step forward into his space.</p><p class="p1">He holds his own, searching my eyes with his until he’s stepping closer in a way that I almost think means he’ll kiss me but he doesn’t. “You’re using.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” I say without needing to lie. I am. So what?</p><p class="p1">“Louis,” Harry says in a way that says so <em>everything</em>. “You told me you had work to do.”</p><p class="p1">“I did have work to do! I do have work to do. How do you think it’s even possible that I’m able to do any of it?”</p><p class="p1">Harry presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath and taking between partially gritted teeth. “Lou, you need to sleep. You need to eat. We talked about this.”</p><p class="p1">I swallow, caught red-handed and guilty as charged. We did talk about this before he left while he was forcing me into eating dinner for the hundredth time, playing with my hair afterward in a failed attempt to settle my mind long enough I’d sleep. I either close my eyes and fall into a nightmare or I close my eyes and fall into an endless suction of blackness that makes me wake up panicking and gasping for air.</p><p class="p1">Staying awake is easier.</p><p class="p1">“I need to get my work done.”</p><p class="p1">“How am I supposed to leave you when I know that this is what you’re doing?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m 24, Harry, you don’t need to babysit me. I can take care of myself.”</p><p class="p1">“Can you?”</p><p class="p1">The two words sting, but if I’m really honest with myself I know that I can’t right now.</p><p class="p1">“What? Like you didn’t bottom out when your mom died? You buried your sadness in Nathan and you see how well that worked out for you.” My voice trails off at the end of the sentence, realizing what I just said. His face falls from legitimate concern to a deep frown, his posture straightening in defense. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“</p><p class="p1">“Clean up my office and try not to snort any more powder while you’re in there,” is all he says back and reply and disappears back into the penthouse.</p><p class="p1">Solid, Louis.</p><p class="p1">Happy homecoming.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">“Can we talk?” I ask hours later, tiptoeing myself into the dining room from the now clean office, my head starting to pound from the comedown. It would be time for another line to cure the feeling, but I’m trying to be good. I have to.</p><p class="p1">“No,” Harry says without looking up from the plate of food I take to be an early dinner.</p><p class="p1">“Are you eating? No one told me—“</p><p class="p1">“Not like you would eat anyways.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I could try." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Now you're just flattering me," he replies, taking his time to gingerly cut apart the steak on his plate. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Harry, I didn't mean what I said." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I said we can't talk right now, Louis," he shoots back, stabbing a fork into a small red potato and shoving it into his mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Okay then. No talking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I turn on my heels, walking away from the dining room and heading right back into the office. If he doesn't want to talk about it, then we won't talk about it. I'm fine with that. It's fine. Everything is totally, completely fine. Nothing to worry about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">My back aches when I sit back down in front of the pile of papers now neatly stacked next to my computer, my head pounding as I reach for the glass of water nearby. I massage my shoulders while I take a long sip, audibly sounding refreshed when I set the glass back down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">The books in front of me are taunting me, so I crack one open, read about twenty words before I'm collapsing on top of the book with the inability to concentrate. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Jesus. Get it together. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I look back down on the page, try again, make it through a page before I have to take another break. This is really not going well. I can't stop thinking about what I said to Harry, how he won't speak to me, how my head is pulsating and my heart is pounding and my stomach is grumbling at the same time I'm not even hungry. By the time I'm ready to eat, I'll be lucky to keep it down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Ahead of me is a cream-colored candle half burnt down. If I squint hard enough, I can read that the label says Vanilla Cupcake. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">My mom lights the candle in the living room, flicking the match up and down a few times until it's safe to put it down on top of the coaster next to the candle. The sweet smell of bakery starts to fill the room as I cross my legs on the couch, absently doing some homework on the side of the couch. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">Dad walks in a few minutes after she settles in the chair across the room, saying hello to me and ignoring her. I look over at her when he walks out, and she looks unphased, a small smirk even tugging at her lips as she looks over at me. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"He's predictable," she practically whispers. "You critique him even slightly and he'll just about lose his mind." </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">I've noticed that but in the way of father and son and not wife and husband. "Doesn't that get annoying?" </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Sometimes," she shrugs and then smiles softly. "That's one of the reasons I fell in love with him." </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">His hard-headedness seems far from desirable to me, but I guess it's just one of those things I won't understand until I fall in love one day. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Are you going to go talk to him?" </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">My mom shakes her head, closing the book and moving to sit next to me on the couch. Her hand rests gently on my knee, squeezing slightly. "Sometimes these things just have to blow over. Talking when the other person is still angry normally just stokes the fire. When he's ready to talk about it, we will." </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Harry walks into the room, and I think that maybe he'll sit down on the opposite side of the table, hands folded in front of him, body relaxed. Instead, he grabs his laptop sitting on top of his desk at the front of the room and walks out without so much as acknowledging my presence. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">*** </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Harry didn't ask me to sleep on the couch last night, but I figured I would take the hint when he closed the bedroom door before I could even come upstairs to sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I had grabbed a couple of blankets from the guest room and walked softly back downstairs to set up on the couch. His expensive furniture is much better than what I have back in Zayn and I's apartment. It wouldn't make my body so sore when I wake up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I rub my eyes when my body finally decides that it doesn't want to sleep anymore, stretching my body as I realize that I actually closed my eyes and managed to relax enough to get a few hours in. I don't feel nearly as refreshed as I need, but something is better than nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">My feet stick out from underneath the blanket, hitting something warm and hard that doesn't at all feel like a couch. I start to sit up to see what I just bumped into at the same time that Harry sits up with a hand pressed to his temple. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Jesus, Louis, are you trying to kill me?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"What are you doing out here?" I ask groggily, my voice hoarse and needing water. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I was sleeping by you," he replies like that makes all the sense in the world. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"What?" I reach for the glass resting on the coffee table. "You shut me out of the bedroom last night. I didn't think--" </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-converted-space">"I wanted to be here if you needed me. The bedroom is kind of far away from here." </span> <span class="Apple-converted-space">I stare at him blankly, not all understanding why he would sleep at the angle he's at on the couch when he would've had an empty, warm, comfortable bed. "Why are you looking at me like that?" </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"We're fighting." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Okay?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I just figured that fighting equated with not wanting to be near each other. You haven't wanted to talk, and you shut me out of the room." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I'm mad at you, Lou, but I don't hate you." He takes his hand off of his temple, pausing for a second like he's debating something and then crawling over to me. He peels back the comforter, sliding in next to me with his back pressed to the back of the couch, tugging me closer to his chest. "Maybe we should get away for a while." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I strain to look up at him, resting my hand on the arm wrapped around my waist. "Where do you want to go?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I don't know," he shrugs, his chin fitting in between my neck and my shoulder. "Anywhere you want. I've stayed at some nice hotels in London, Paris, Vienna, Oslow..." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Paris," I sigh happily, settling back against the pillow. "I've always wanted to go to Paris." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"It's romantic." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"It is," I nod, bringing his hand up my lips to kiss over his knuckles. "I'm sorry about what I said. I wasn't thinking straight." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I know, baby," he says softly against my ear, kissing my neck quickly. "I'm sorry, too. And it's not about you using or you trashing my office, but it is about you needing to keep your head clear, take care of yourself. I've watched you fumble for just under a month and not gracefully." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I'm handling my grief the best I can just like--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Just like I handled mine," he finishes for me, a pause hanging heavy in the air. "You should see someone. I can get you in contact with the practice my therapist works under?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Harry--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I don't know if it's really up for discussion right now. You've been telling me you can do it on your own when you clearly can't, and there's not an ounce of shame in that. You can grieve while still eating and sleeping and not stringing yourself out on cocaine to stay awake every night." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I just don't like it when my head's quiet." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Entertain the idea of seeing someone for me. Please?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Okay," I accept quietly, rubbing patterns over his arm. "So Paris, huh?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"There's this gorgeous place," he starts, deep-diving into a story about how his parents took him and Gemma there when they were young, about how he fell in love with glamour and the view, about how he hasn't been back in a while and was waiting to take someone worthwhile. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I shift so I'm looking at him, both of us laying on the same pillow and intertwining our feet under the covers while he's illustrating beautiful stories about his escapades in Europe. I watch the way his eyes light up at certain parts, the small laughs at various memories before he tells them to me, how fondly he speaks of his mother. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I could stay clean for him if I wanted to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I swear I could. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is literally just soft, soft smut so enjoy &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i've had this scene in my head for DAYS so i hope it translated well lol it's been a hot minute since i put a straight up smut chapter in here, and i thought we were due for one so this was born </p><p>also the hotel for this chapter is <a href="https://www.shangri-la.com/en/paris/shangrila/rooms-suites/suites/duplex-terrace-eiffel-view-suite/">here</a>, but I added the mirror above the headboard for, you know, reasons</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">A soft breeze on a terrace in Paris, gourmet food in front of me, a glass of fine wine, the Eiffel Tower in plain sight, and the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on smiling over at me.</p><p class="p1">If I could go back in time and ask myself—little Denver boy with big dreams of traveling to the city and going into something called law—if I ever thought I would be here, the answer would be a resounding no.</p><p class="p1">I set my fork down on the table when I take my final bite, dabbing at my mouth with a cloth napkin while he’s taking a sip of his wine, the rings on his fingers dinging into the glass.</p><p class="p1">God, his fingers.</p><p class="p1">“I think tomorrow we should go to Versailles,” he says when he sets down the glass, resting against the back of his chair and undoing just the very top button of his shirt. It is warm, but I can’t help to think that there’s another motive at play here.</p><p class="p1">Or maybe it’s just my hormones I can’t keep in check.</p><p class="p1">“Versailles sounds lovely.”</p><p class="p1">“I thought so. The last I was there I was really young. It’ll be nice to appreciate the beauty of it now.”</p><p class="p1">Harry looks out at the distance, fingers moving absently on his jawline for a second before dropping back down to his lap. I follow his movements the entire way, wanting nothing more than to press my lips to the skin on his jaw, down to his collarbone, down to the inch of exposed skin on his chest.</p><p class="p1">“It’s amazing how much you start to appreciate beauty when you’re older,” I say, watching his hand move absently over his leg.</p><p class="p1">“Isn’t it?” He asks rhetorically, not at all paying attention to the way I’m undressing him in my mind. “We’re still young, of course, but not the kind of young that makes everything thoughtlessly pass through our lives.”</p><p class="p1">“Things have meaning now,” I add after taking another sip of my wine. The glass is almost empty, but that’s not the kind of thirst that needs to be quenched.</p><p class="p1">Harry looks back at me, a small smirk starting to form. “Things do have meaning now.”</p><p class="p1">I smirk back. Maybe he was paying attention. “You know, I never envisioned I’d be here.”</p><p class="p1">“Most people don’t envision themselves on spring break in Paris, France.”</p><p class="p1">“No, they don’t,” I agree with a smile, resting my hand on the table halfway between us, “and I surely didn’t expect to be here with my boyfriend, and I certainly didn’t expect that boyfriend to be you.”</p><p class="p1">“Disappointed?” He asks playfully, opening his palm to me instead of placing it over top of my hand.</p><p class="p1">I take his hand, let him pull me up from the chair and into his lap. I’m naturally taller than him like this, my legs digging into the bottom of the chair, my hands resting on his neck while he pushes up my shirt to get his on the bare skin of my hips. The wind blows again and takes his hair with the breeze along with the open ends of his shirt.</p><p class="p1">He’s gorgeous.</p><p class="p1">“I can’t say I’m disappointed, no.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh no?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” I shake my head, both of us laughing when we seal our lips together, moving fluidly while his hands apply just enough pressure to get me fully down on his lap.</p><p class="p1">I grind down against him, the friction enough to tide me over for now. He sighs into my mouth, the action giving me enough space to slide my tongue alongside his.</p><p class="p1">Crossing off making out in Paris off of my bucket list.</p><p class="p1">“We haven’t tried out the bed yet, have we?” He asks against my lips, kissing my teeth without intention when I smile wide.</p><p class="p1">“Or the couch, or the bathtub, or the shower, or the dining room table.”</p><p class="p1">“The dining room table?”</p><p class="p1">“Never quite know when the desire will hit. Could be while we’re eating breakfast.” He hums, pulling away to press his lips to my throat. I tip my head to the side to give him better access, gripping his shoulders while I wait a few moments to scoot back. “Take me to bed, H.”</p><p class="p1">The nickname falls off of my lips for the first time easily, and he pays no attention to it, attaching his lips back on mine while we try to coordinate our way to the bedroom.</p><p class="p1">We knock into the table, knock into the doors, knock into each other. He’s forceful with his movements, hands digging hard enough into my hips to leave bruises, and while it’s making me sigh into my mouth, I want something else tonight.</p><p class="p1">I <em>need</em> something else tonight.</p><p class="p1">“Hey,” I say softly, pressing my forehead to his and taking a second to breathe. My head is already spinning. “What if we took it slow tonight? We are in the city of romance after all.”</p><p class="p1">He smiles, bringing a hand up to caress my cheek. “That’s what you want?”</p><p class="p1">I nod, pressing my lips to his for another moment, pulling away with a soft pop. Our noses brush together, the wine still fresh on our breath.</p><p class="p1">“I love you.”</p><p class="p1">“I love you, Lou,” he replies, connecting our lips again and backing me up until my knees hit the front of the bed and I fall backward.</p><p class="p1">He towers over me as he works over the buttons of my shirt and then kissing over each sliver of exposed skin as he works his way down. I swallow the closer he gets to my cock, gripping the sheets in anticipation.</p><p class="p1">Harry backs off right as he reaches the top of my pants, stepping back to start undressing. I prop myself up on my elbows to watch, looking at him hungrily as he fumbles with his fly.</p><p class="p1">I’m fast to tug him towards me by the hook of his pants, kissing over his stomach while he pushes them down and off of his legs. I blink up at him right before I lick over his cock pressing against his boxers.</p><p class="p1">“You’re so sexy, baby.”</p><p class="p1">Harry runs a hand through his hair and then cards the spare one through mine, his mouth dropping open. I keep going until his boxers are wet, my own hand dropping into mine to press on my cock. He’s already got me so fucking hard.</p><p class="p1">“It’s a sin to watch you do that while I’m standing right here,” he says breathlessly as we work together to peel off his boxers. Harry steps out of them as I work on my own clothes until he’s kneeling on the body, pulling me up by my shoulders to do the same, and turning us around.</p><p class="p1">There’s a mirror in front of us I haven’t noticed, and I watch him position me so I can’t look anywhere but, his mouth on my neck while his hands wander over my body. He takes a nipple between his fingertips and rolls gently, and I press back into him, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and holding on to his hair.</p><p class="p1">“We’re hot,” I say as I watch his other hand come up to his mouth and then grip my cock, jerking me off slowly as he lifts to gaze to meet mine in the mirror.</p><p class="p1">“We are,” he agrees. “Want to fuck you like this.”</p><p class="p1">“While I watch?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” Harry sighs, his spare hand still roaming over me. “Your body, Lou. So beautiful.”</p><p class="p1">That makes me blush, my cheeks and chest starting to turn an obvious red that makes him smile knowingly. His lips are on my shoulder then, working his way over to the base of my neck and then going down, down, down. He gently bends me over so I’m gripping the headboard, my eyes still watching my own reaction when he massages my ass and gently pulls me apart. I naturally separate my legs to accommodate him, and I watch him staring, wetting his lips, finally coming forward. </p><p class="p1">My grip on the headboard tightens as he starts to work his tongue over me, altering between slipping his tongue inside and circling around. I lose myself in it, tunnel vision developing on just the two of us in this city, in this room, in this bed--an island in the middle of an oasis on display for no one else. I can't remember the last time I felt like this, if I've <em>ever </em>felt like this. It's not about what he's doing or the simple biology of this. It's about him. </p><p class="p1">"That's so good," I sigh, exhaling a heavy burst of air I didn't know I was holding in until I let it go. </p><p class="p1">Harry smiles against me, moaning softly and sending sparks of pleasure from the base of my spine down to my toes. He moves a hand off of me and wraps it around himself, and it's so fucking hot to know that this is getting to him just like he's getting to me. </p><p class="p1">"Lube," he says when he pulls off, lips swollen and glistening with spit. </p><p class="p1">"What?" I ask with an almost laugh, looking away from the mirror and actually at him. </p><p class="p1">"We need lube," he clarifies, stepping off the bed and tearing through the few bags we have in here. I admire him while he moves--the flush covering his body, how hard he is, the little curses dropping out of his lips as he's prying open zippers and compartments in an obvious rush. He makes a happy noise when he finally finds the bottle, looking over at me with a look different than the lust he normally has. "Hi." </p><p class="p1">"Hi," I actually laugh, falling into the way he kisses me like that's all he wants to do for the rest of his life. I'm so far gone tasting myself on him, knowing what this all means. </p><p class="p1">"Gonna make you feel so good, baby," he says practically into my mouth, and then he's back to kissing a trail down my spine, cracking open the bottle of lube and pouring some down onto his fingers. </p><p class="p1">And he does. </p><p class="p1">I'm on cloud nine by the time he's almost done with prep--three fingers deep and pushing against my prostate over and over and over again. My toes are curling in on themselves, my knuckles white from how tightly I'm holding on to this headboard, my bottom lip bitten raw. I wipe away the sweat building on my forehead with the back of my hand, watching his cock disappear and appear from his fist while he's watching himself finger me with immense concentration. </p><p class="p1">We could do this. </p><p class="p1">"Harry," I toss over my shoulder as I try to fucking breathe right now. He looks up at me as his response, pulling his fingers out of me and starting to reach for the condom he must've tossed on the bed when he grabbed the lube. "I haven't been with anyone since the last time I got tested. Just you." </p><p class="p1">His face fades into realization. "You want to...?" </p><p class="p1">"If you're clean, too," I nod with a smile. </p><p class="p1">"You're sure?" </p><p class="p1">"I'm sure," I say, arching my back a little more for punctuation of the matter. "Want you to come inside of me tonight." </p><p class="p1">He visibly swallows, a grin building as he starts shaking his head in disbelief. "Jesus, Lou." </p><p class="p1">I roll over when he practically attacks me with his lips, laughing into it and wrapping my legs around his waist. I catch the moment he starts to slip out of the persona I didn't think he'd be able to keep, his hands finding my forearms before I can rest my hands on his cheeks, bringing my arms up and over my head and holding them there. </p><p class="p1">"Hey," I say with a nudge of my nose against his cheek. "Let me touch you?" He breathes out slowly like he's thinking about it. "It's me. It's okay." </p><p class="p1">"It's you," he nods and he sounds like he's convincing himself of something. </p><p class="p1">"It's me," I repeat, feeling his grip loosen and his hands find my hips. I slowly bring my hands to his face, cupping his cheeks. "It's me." </p><p class="p1">He lets me kiss him, the movements slow and steady as he lines up and pushes inside of me. I exhale into the back of his throat, hips shifting to adjust to his size. Harry knows my body, knows when he's okay to start moving, and we take a little bit to find the rhythm, but once we do it's nothing but fire. </p><p class="p1">I part from his lips to tilt my head back against the pillow, his lips just finding another bit of my skin to kiss, to lick, to softly bite. My back arches up into him, my cock dragging against his abs. The friction is so good, <em>too </em>good, getting me there way faster than I want to be but I know I can't prolong this forever. </p><p class="p1">"You feel so fucking good, Lou, you have no idea," Harry pants out, and I think I do have at least a little bit of an idea. The heat is pulling in my stomach at astronomical rates, and the feeling of just him inside of me with no barrier surprises me with how obviously better it is. </p><p class="p1">He adjusts his angle so he's just merely brushing against my prostrate, and the tease makes my fingers dig into his upper back. "<em>Fuck</em>, baby." </p><p class="p1">"You like that?" </p><p class="p1">I nod feverishly, trying to meet his thrusts, push him in further than he can physically go. "I'm not going to last like this." </p><p class="p1">He agrees with me, wet strands of hair hanging down from his forehead and brushing over my neck as he sucks on the spot that drives me insane. "You first." </p><p class="p1">I slip a hand down in between us, wrapping firmly around my cock and hissing at the sensation. I know it won't take long, so I'm not surprised when it only takes me a couple of pulls to come over my hand, my stomach, his chest. He looks down at the feeling and then back at me with an unbelieving look on his face. That it's this good, that we're here? I don't know, and I don't care. I just know that I agree. </p><p class="p1">Harry thrusts in a few more times before he's groaning low and deep against my throat, spilling inside of me. I'm not prepared for the feeling, how it's primal and physical and like he's marking me as his. It's hot, <em>so </em>hot, and he comes with such force he has to be seeing the same stars I am. </p><p class="p1">"Holy shit," I breathe out when his thrusts slow down, both of our lungs working at max capacity if our panting is anything to go by. </p><p class="p1">"Yeah," he says in reply, looking down at me with flushed cheeks and lips and that beautiful post-orgasm glow. "I've never done that before." </p><p class="p1">"I haven't either." He kisses me gently in response, my hands finding his chest and skating right through my come on his skin. I pull off with a disgusted face, wiping my hands on the sheets. "We're going to need to clean up and call housekeeping." </p><p class="p1">He laughs, the vibration enough to make him thrust gently into me. We both moan at the sensation, my cock expressing interest in going for a second round but my ass telling me I shouldn't do that if I want to walk around Versailles tomorrow. I'm going to be so fucking sore. </p><p class="p1">"I'll go grab a washcloth from the bathroom," he says knowingly, careful as he's slipping out of me. I watch him walk there, take in how red I made his back with my nails, how his hips move. He's fast to come back with a wet washcloth, even faster to adjust my legs so he can properly clean me up, pausing right before wiping away his come. </p><p class="p1">"What are you doing?" I ask, nudging into his arm with my foot. </p><p class="p1">"I did not expect this to be as hot as it is," he admits with a blush on his cheek. It must be pretty intense if he looks like that. </p><p class="p1">"We don't have to wear condoms again if you didn't want to." </p><p class="p1">"Okay," he says with a kiss to the inside of my ankle, gently swiping the washcloth against my skin. "Might be easier for clean up sometimes, though. These sheets are destroyed." </p><p class="p1">"God, the poor cleaning lady." </p><p class="p1">"This was your idea." </p><p class="p1">"Like you were going to turn it down?" I shoot back, reveling in the domestics of the banter. </p><p class="p1">He tosses the washcloth onto the floor when he's finished, crawling back up to lay down next to me. I naturally turn to rest my head against his chest, fingers moving in slow strokes over his tattoos while our legs intertwine together. If I look straight ahead, the night has settled behind the building across the way, the lights sparkling on the Eiffel Tower. Our food is still on the table, plates and cups and bunched-up napkins. </p><p class="p1">"Are you happy?" Harry asks after a few minutes of silence, his hand moving over my shoulder. </p><p class="p1">The sound of a happy Paris nightlife ring through the hotel room from below, a steady breeze coming in through the open door to the patio. It's one of those moments where I'm not thinking of anything else. Not of my mom, not of school, not of what's happening back at my apartment or if Gigi and Kendall are still surviving in their apartment by the train tracks. </p><p class="p1">I press a lingering kiss to his chest.</p><p class="p1">"I'm happy." </p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>h and lou make an important decision and are just adorable tbh</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HELLO thank you for waiting on this it's been so busy for me on this side of things but per usual i adore you all and thank you so much for reading &lt;3 being half way to 4k hits is insane for this little first person fic </p><p>much love</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I roll over in bed, my arm resting on an empty pillow that’s still warm. One of my eyes open to confirm that Harry isn’t there, my sleepy panic settling once I hear the shower running from the bathroom.</p><p class="p1">I smile to myself, running my hands over the fabric of the pillowcase, an ache settling between my legs that reminds me of what we got up to last night.</p><p class="p1">Another feeling settles in my stomach that tells me I wouldn’t mind doing it again.</p><p class="p1">Harry kept the doors to the patio open last night, and though it was cold falling asleep it’s paying off right now with the warm morning breeze and sunlight pouring in and casting shadows against the wall.</p><p class="p1">I’m naked when I stand up, a sheet clinging loosely to me that I ditch halfway to the bathroom. The shower is encased in glass, of course, and I take a second to rest my shoulder against the doorframe and admire.</p><p class="p1">His strong shoulders flex as he scrubs at his hair, the muscles in his low back tightening as he turns around to better angle himself under the stream. I’m lucky at the new view—the water dripping down his chest, rounding off his cock, tracing lines down his thighs. All of my favorite parts of him.</p><p class="p1">My feet carry me forward before I realize what I’m doing, my hands opening the door to the shower the same way. He turns towards the noise and opens his eyes, an inviting yet sultry look creeping onto his face.</p><p class="p1">“Good morning,” he says against the sound of the water hitting the floor.</p><p class="p1">“Good morning, handsome,” I reply, stepping forward into his space and leaning around him to grab the bar of soap resting on a shelf. “I figured there was no use in taking separate showers.”</p><p class="p1">“That would just be a waste of water,” he agrees, running his now soap lathered hands over his chest and his arms.</p><p class="p1">I move behind him to put the soap back on the shelf, my chest pressed to his back. There’s a patch of soap-less skin on his shoulder I press my lips too, my hands wrapping around his waist and resting over his chest.</p><p class="p1">“I could still smell you on me when I woke up,” I say practically into his skin, moving my hands up and down his body. He’s tensing his abs every time I start to roam further south, and his body is stiff with anticipation. One of my hands drifts past his waistline, loosely and blindly wrapping around his cock. “I can still feel you between my legs, baby. You fucked me so good last night. Exactly how I needed it.”</p><p class="p1">“Lou,” he breathes out, body relaxing as I start to slowly jerk him off. His head tips back and nearly touches my shoulder before bouncing back up. “You’re horny in the mornings.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not sure how I couldn’t be waking up to my Greek god boyfriend.”</p><p class="p1">He relaxes even more, shoulders falling down from towards his ears, a quiet whimper slipping out when I swipe my thumb over the tip. I don’t neglect to understand the importance of this moment, how he’s surrendering to my touch.</p><p class="p1">My lips start kissing down his spine, my hand still moving at an even pace. I’ve never done to him what I want to do—bend him over, bury my face in his ass and make him see the same stars he gives me.</p><p class="p1">I’ll try my luck this morning.</p><p class="p1">Harry grips my hair when I start to suck on the dimples of his low back, biting down softly and then licking over the red marks. My spare hand grips his ass, massaging the muscle in my palm, absolutely fucking reveling in it. I shift, let my knees touch the floor as I start to pull him apart.</p><p class="p1">And his grip tightens right on cue.</p><p class="p1">“You’re also cocky in the morning, huh?”</p><p class="p1">I smirk to myself and rub at the back of his thigh. “It’s not cocky to want to take care of you.”</p><p class="p1">“Louis—“</p><p class="p1">I stand up, maneuvering myself so I’m in front of him, hands on his cheeks just like last night. “I want to take care of you.”</p><p class="p1">“I take care of you,” he says back, head turning to press a kiss to my right palm.</p><p class="p1">“I think relationships are a bit of a give and take,” I reply with a smile, “so let me do this.”</p><p class="p1">He gives me a nod so small it’s barely noticeable, connecting his lips with mine with a force that makes it obvious he’s grasping at straws for some sort of power.</p><p class="p1">“What about you?”</p><p class="p1">I shake my head, wrapping my hand back around his cock. “Nothing about me. Hands on the wall, H.”</p><p class="p1">He stands there for a second, head clearly moving at rapid speeds until he folds, turns his body, presses his palms against the wall of the shower.</p><p class="p1">I grab his hips to angle him better, returning to kissing him down his spine and then spreading his legs. The water’s loud, but I swear I can hear him hold his breath.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">“Reading about the lavishness of this place is a lot different than actually experiencing it,” I tell Harry who’s lying on his back in the grass of one of the gardens at Versailles. I’m lying on my stomach, my fingers rolling the blades in between my fingertips. There are young kids around yelling and laughing and chasing each other.</p><p class="p1">It’s a good day.</p><p class="p1">“Did you enjoy the tour?”</p><p class="p1">I nod. “I loved it. Probably one of my favorite places from our whole trip.”</p><p class="p1">“Impressive,” Harry replies, closing his eyes and putting his hands behind his head. “You know, Gemma dove right into the reflection pool the last time we were here.”</p><p class="p1">I breathe out a laugh, looking over at the calm water of the pool. “She did?”</p><p class="p1">“She loves—or at least I think she still does—swimming, and before my parents could even think, she just dove right into the water.” He laughs too at the memory, his dimples popping out. “It was extremely embarrassing. I mean, you see how many people are out here now, so just think of that many people stopping and staring at the girl deciding to dive headfirst into the most popular pool at Versailles.”</p><p class="p1">“She doesn’t strike me as the type who would be so spontaneous.”</p><p class="p1">I would assume she’d be the type to have planners upon planners, and strict schedules, and a day organized by most to least important. Prim and proper like when she came to Harry’s—elegant clothes, blunt manners, folded napkins on the lap.</p><p class="p1">“She changed after mom died,” he explains quietly. “I think we all did. Maybe not my father. He always had different priorities and the inability to support us the way we needed it, but Gemma and I... we changed.”</p><p class="p1">“How’d you change?”</p><p class="p1">He opens his eyes, rolling his head over his arms to look at me like I just asked a world-altering question, like he still isn’t used to me caring enough to want to probe deeper into his statements.</p><p class="p1">“I used to not want to conform and that made me careless. My mom used to laugh at how I had two different personalities—I would go to school in my perfectly ironed uniform and get perfect grades and do all of my homework, and then I would come home and sneak out or steal candy bars from convenience stores and make out with guys a lot older than me. Notably, I never listened to my father. That was always the kicker. Got me in the most trouble.” Harry pauses for a second, rolling his whole body now over to the side to prop himself up on an elbow. I do the same so we’re looking eye to eye. “I never wanted my father’s company. I wanted to go to school. I thought of maybe going into psychology or sociology or something. It wasn’t a clear-cut plan, but it was a plan. Mom hated the idea of me separating from the family business—my grandfather started it with the intention of it going down to my father and then to me and then to my son. It’s silly to think of a trading company as some generational thing, but it was to him and my parents. After she died, I felt like I’d be foolish not to honor what she ultimately wanted for me, so I didn’t apply to school and followed in his footsteps.”</p><p class="p1">“Do you regret it?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes and no. I regret not going through with my own plans, but I love my place, I love the freedom, I love that you and I are sitting here together.”</p><p class="p1">“But you aren’t happy,” I note. “You could love all of those things and still not be happy.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m happy right now.”</p><p class="p1">“That isn’t the same thing.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ve thought about quitting when it was just me but now that there’s two of us—“</p><p class="p1">“I would move you into my apartment, go get a job. I mean, I’m two years away from being a lawyer and hypothetically I’ll be bringing in a lot of cash almost right away,” I say without thinking about the causality of the idea that the two of us are more permanent. “I don’t care about the penthouse or the clothes or having Niall and Lawerence around to drive us and Phillip to cook. I liked my two-bedroom with the thin walls and the roommate. I bet I’d like that kind of living even more with you.”</p><p class="p1">Harry’s hand comes out to brush a piece of hair out of my face and pull a small piece of grass from behind my ear. “I thought of starting my own company. I could quit if it was just me, but I want to keep providing all of this," he gestures to our very grand location, "for you." </p><p class="p1">“Oh,” I say with a blush as I realize that he probably didn’t need all of those theatrics.</p><p class="p1">“Those are cute thoughts though,” he says with a soothing smile, leaning forward to kiss me softly. "Would you want to downsize?" </p><p class="p1">I shrug. "I don't really have an opinion. It's not my place." </p><p class="p1">"You basically live there." </p><p class="p1">"I basically don't."</p><p class="p1">"You could," he says easily. </p><p class="p1">I open my mouth to say something, <em>anything</em> at that but am promptly cut off by a couple nervously approaching us in the grass. </p><p class="p1">"I'm sorry," the woman says with a borderline terrified look on her face, "but I was wondering if one of you would be able to take our picture?" </p><p class="p1">Her American accent and her husband wearing a camera around his neck and cargo shorts indicate that they're tourists just like Harry and I. </p><p class="p1">"Of course," I reply warmly, pushing myself off of the ground and reaching for one of their phones. </p><p class="p1">"Oh, thank you," she says with a sigh of relief. "We asked plenty of other people, but I don't think a single one of them spoke English." </p><p class="p1">"Or they just wanted us to believe they couldn't speak English," the man chimes in, settling with his hand around her waist. </p><p class="p1">She starts to lift her hand, but then drops it, thinking for a second while I'm holding the camera in mid-air and waiting for my cue. </p><p class="p1">"Wait, Brett. We should try and get the palace behind us." </p><p class="p1">"Shouldn't we be a bit closer to try that?" </p><p class="p1">"Do you want to ask another rude person up there to take it?" He falls silent with a pout. "I didn't think so."</p><p class="p1">I laugh under my breath at the exchange, looking down at Harry who's still lying on the grass and raising his eyebrows up at me. </p><p class="p1">Once they position themselves, I start the countdown, and she lifts her hand, flashing a gorgeous diamond ring on her ring finger with the biggest smile on her face. She asks if I can take a couple, and I'm happy to oblige, helping them with lighting and positioning and letting them do some serious and goofy ones. </p><p class="p1">He looks at her like she's all he can see in the midst of the bustling activity where we are, and she looks at him like she wants to for the rest of her life. </p><p class="p1">"Thank you so much for this," she tells me, reaching for her phone after we complete the last photo. </p><p class="p1">"It's not a problem," I answer happily. "Did you two just get engaged?" </p><p class="p1">"We did," she says excitedly, wrapping her arm around his and leaning onto his shoulder. "He did it in the middle of the Hall of Mirrors." </p><p class="p1">"I had the ring in my pocket and waiting for the right moment, and that was the right moment," he chimes in, looking away from me and lovingly over at her. "The light framed her so beautifully I couldn't think of any other time." </p><p class="p1">She giggles, kissing him on the cheek and turning back to me. "Are you two engaged?" </p><p class="p1">My cheeks heat up for no good reason, my palms starting to sweat as I look between Harry and the couple. "Oh, no. Just dating." </p><p class="p1">"Well, you two look awfully happy. Thanks again for the picture...?" </p><p class="p1">"Louis," I fill in the blank for her. "Congratulations to you both." </p><p class="p1">"Thank you, Louis," she says at the same time her fiance says, "Best of luck to you both," before walking away. </p><p class="p1">I settle back down on the grass, lying on my elbows and watching them disappear into the crowd. </p><p class="p1">"God, could you imagine a proposal in the middle of all of those people?" </p><p class="p1">"That's awfully romantic." </p><p class="p1">"That's awfully <em>terrible</em>," I correct. "That would be so humiliating. It was packed when we were in there! He'd have to clear a space or risk getting trampled on by the tourists trying to take a picture of the hallway." </p><p class="p1">"Not a fan of grand gestures?" </p><p class="p1">"Not a fan of grand gestures," I say with a firm shake of my head. </p><p class="p1">"Noted," he replies, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek and standing up, reaching for my hand to help me up. "Let's get some gelato. I have a sweet tooth all of a sudden." </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Strawberry gelato touches the skin of my neck, dripping off of Harry's spoon and landing in a soft splash. He comes forward, tongue sliding on my skin and the combination of hot and cold sending pleasure up my spine. </p><p class="p1">"You taste good," he says against my skin, sucking softly. </p><p class="p1">"Like strawberry?" I ask with a smile and a tease, tilting my head to the side. </p><p class="p1">"Something like that." </p><p class="p1">"What if you tasted like mint chocolate chip?" I start to dip my spoon into my container of gelato before stopping myself and dipping a finger in instead. "Better yet, what if you tasted the mint chocolate chip?" </p><p class="p1">He raises his head and cocks his eyebrow, realization setting in when I start to bring my finger up to his lips. He parts easily, all tongue first and then enclosing around my finger. He treats my finger like a blow job, swirling his tongue around my fingertip, cheeks indenting with the suction.</p><p class="p1">It's pornographic, it's turning me on despite having done this twice today already, it's happening on the floor of the living room with just a lamp on and our clothes scattered around us because we couldn't wait to put the gelato in the freezer or to make it to the bedroom. </p><p class="p1">If someone looking in didn't know any better, they might agree with the girl from Versailles asking if we're engaged. </p><p class="p1">If I didn't know any better, I would say right now kind of feels like it.</p><p class="p1">"That's actually really fucking good," Harry says once my finger is out of his mouth, and he reaches for my spoon. "Can I try an actual bite?" </p><p class="p1">"Go for it," I say with a shrug, surrendering my container over to him. </p><p class="p1">He takes his time licking over the spoon, and I'm not sure if it's for show or not, but it all falls away when he drops it back into my container and asks, "Would you?" </p><p class="p1">"Would I what?" </p><p class="p1">"Move in with me." He presses his back against the front of the couch, ankles crossed in front of him. Harry looks awfully nonchalant about something that has big connotations. </p><p class="p1">"Harry, I don't--" </p><p class="p1">"You spend five days a week at my apartment at my place. The other two I normally have meetings until late and Phillip normally leaves early, and you don't like to be alone in there all by yourself. You have a closet full of clothes, a toothbrush in my bathroom, a place to put your towel after the shower." </p><p class="p1">I swallow, closing my gelato as my mouth starts to run dry. "This would be a big step. Are we even ready for it? I mean, I'm not exactly mentally stable right now--" </p><p class="p1">"As if you have been the whole time we've been together," he points out with a grin, and he's right. I haven't had my shit together in years and even less so over the past six months. "I'm not worried about it. Are you worried about it?" </p><p class="p1">"A little," I admit shyly like there's shame in it when I know for a fact there isn't. "There's just a lot to think about." </p><p class="p1">"Not really." </p><p class="p1">"<em>Harry</em>." </p><p class="p1">"Okay, okay." He throws his hands up to playfully signal his backing off. "The more you're around, I don't want you to leave." </p><p class="p1">"I just don't want things to change. Moving in is different than me spending the night. I still have a place to go back to. What happens when we fight, and I don't have anywhere to go and there's no separation?" </p><p class="p1">"You saw what happens." </p><p class="p1">"That's not going to happen every time." </p><p class="p1">"What if we just didn't analyze it and just did it?" </p><p class="p1">I narrow my eyes, a grin tugging at my lips. "What is this? An attempt to get back to your old reckless ways? I'm not a way older man for you to make out with just to spite your parents, you know." </p><p class="p1">"I know that, trust me," he laughs and then settles into seriousness. "The whole build-up to me admitting that I loved you was full of me overthinking it. It wasn't just some random thing but rather me spending all of this time ruminating all of the possibilities and what could go wrong. You could've not felt the same, you could've thought that I'm absolutely crazy. You could've broken my heart, Lou. You still could. Not that I believe you will, of course, but I've been wrong before, and I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I don't want to think about it anymore. I love you, and I'm scared fucking shitless and will probably fumble through the adjustment period or whatever they talk about in those articles about taking that next step together, but I just--I'm following my gut on this one." </p><p class="p1">I take a deep breath, looking away from him for a second and over at the dark side of the room. </p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Do you remember when we first moved in together?" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"I remember," my father replies fondly, pouring more wine into her glass at dinner. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Were you guys nervous?" Lottie asks and then takes a bite of her chicken. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"It's always nerve-wracking to take a chance like that," Mom answers. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"We were already engaged," Dad adds, "so that did help things, but it was still a bit worrisome. We didn't know how we'd handle being together just the two of us like that. Living with your grandfather came with a bigger house and another person there to ease the tension if we fought, and the place we picked out right before we had Louis was this small studio apartment barely bigger than this room." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Did you fight a lot?" </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"At the beginning," my mother answers, placing her hand over my father's arm, "but I think I fell in love with him the most in those small moments you don't really think about like doing the bills together or needing to both get ready in the same small bathroom at the same time." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Do you remember when the pipes broke and our bathroom flooded?" He asks her.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>She nods, shaking her head like she can still feel the annoyance from all those years ago. "Goodness, yes. I was just pregnant with Lou, too." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He looks at us with a mischievous grin. "Your mother was nothing but a big ball of anger during her pregnancy." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Must explain why you're so annoying then," Lottie tells me, shoving an elbow into my side that I quickly return. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Your father stayed up all night trying to fix the pipes just so I would have a warm shower in the morning to help with all of the cramping muscles." </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>"Yes, I did," he says proudly, puffing out his chest a little bit. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>She rolls her eyes at his moment of masculinity, squeezing his arm before taking her hand away. "Sometimes I miss those moments." </em>
</p><p class="p1">"I'll have to talk to Zayn," I say to the darkness. </p><p class="p1">"What?" </p><p class="p1">I look back at Harry. "I'll have to talk to Zayn. My name is still on the lease until July, and that's three months away. I don't want to leave him hanging." </p><p class="p1">"I could help with--"</p><p class="p1">"No," I cut him off sternly. "I told you that was a bill I wanted to pay on my own." </p><p class="p1">"Alright," he huffs out, crossing his arms in front of his chest like that's the one thing he's going to pick to be upset about until I notice the smile creeping onto his face. "Is that a yes?" </p><p class="p1">"That's a yes," I reply with the same sort of smile.</p><p class="p1">We hold eye contact until he surges forward, nearly collapsing on top of me when my back hits the floor. His lips are on mine, biting with too much tongue and teeth but it's somehow one of the best kisses I've ever received. </p><p class="p1">I smile into it, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck and hold him closer to me. </p><p class="p1">Somewhere in between, I feel the gelato containers against my feet, knocking them out of the way and probably to melt and dribble onto the carpet. I don't care enough to clean it up no matter how much we might regret that later. </p><p class="p1">Yeah.</p><p class="p1">Right now kind of feels like it. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is honestly just louis and his friends talking and some mad tea between lou and gigi</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the lowkey intense emotion here but it’s necessary!!! will probably be some spice in the next chapter too &lt;3</p><p>love u all xo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I think I picked a bad day for this to happen.</p><p class="p1">I’m deep in my studies by the time dinner rolls around, books and papers scattered across the floor of the living room as I’m on the floor in front of the coffee table quizzing myself with flashcards on torts.</p><p class="p1">Vivian is tucked away upstairs and working on the final</p><p class="p1">tailors on suits for an expo of Harry’s after he gets back and Phillip is busy in the kitchen preparing enough food for six.</p><p class="p1">The door intercom goes off.</p><p class="p1">Speaking of.</p><p class="p1">“Mr. Tomlinson,” James says once I’m pressing the button, “I believe your guests are here.”</p><p class="p1">“Thank you, James,” I say with a forced smile, the living room set up behind me hanging over my head as the door opens and each of my friends starts to pile inside.</p><p class="p1">It’s another instance where I’m underdressed—a pair of workout shorts and a t-shit on and lucky I even showered as they walk in looking like they put in an actual effort.</p><p class="p1">“Holy shit,” Gigi says with a shocked face as she’s looking around at her surroundings.</p><p class="p1">“I told you,” Kendall replies in a sing-song voice. She’s been here a few times without Gi to meet with Harry about her portfolio commissions.</p><p class="p1">“I just figured you were being dramatic.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s beautiful,” Natalie adds, pressing a hello kiss on my cheek.</p><p class="p1">Liam’s next to shake my hand and then embrace me, nodding in agreement with her.</p><p class="p1">“Totally can see why you left our small apartment, Lou,” Zayn says behind Liam, and I embrace him next.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll play you the sound system later,” I tell him with a smile, knowing that he’ll love hearing the pounding bass of his music through the crisp quality of Harry’s hidden speakers.</p><p class="p1">“And you have a doorman,” Gigi notes. “That’s insane.”</p><p class="p1">“It is isn’t it?”</p><p class="p1">“Always the rich ones,” she says like she has a million times before but this time with a hint of something other than teasing as she crosses over into the living room.</p><p class="p1">I try to organize the absolute mess in front of us, papers crinkling underneath my grip and books getting shoved out of the way with an apology.</p><p class="p1">Liam bends over to pick up one of the flashcards and then starts to laugh. “Dude, fuck torts.”</p><p class="p1">“Says the guy who aced that without an issue.”</p><p class="p1">“It still sucked.”</p><p class="p1">“How’s your studying coming along with it?”</p><p class="p1">“I finished some time ago.” Of course, he did. “Nat’s just helping me with a broader review process these days.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s good,” I say, another forced smile. “I’ve been trying just to catch up.”</p><p class="p1">Liam’s face falls as does the energy of the rest of the room. “I would think that after your mom it would be really hard to stay focused.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” I scratch at the back of my neck. “It actually is really hard.”</p><p class="p1">“Weren’t you just in Paris?” Gi’s voice cuts through the silence.</p><p class="p1">I turn to look at her, speaking slowly. “Yeah, we went over spring break. I still studied on the plane, but I needed the getaway.”</p><p class="p1">“He has a lot going on,” Kendall replies quietly to her like it needs explaining to my best friend.</p><p class="p1">Luckily, Liam has more questions and I can refocus my attention on him. “How are you doing with it all? Do you need anything?”</p><p class="p1">“You could take the practice bar for me,” I reply with a laugh and then shaking my head. “No, but thank you. I actually started seeing someone. A therapist.”</p><p class="p1">“Lou, that’s great.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah.”</p><p class="p1">“Hey, where is Harry?” Natalie asks from the edge of the couch. “I haven’t seen him since your party at the end of last semester. Such a nice guy.”</p><p class="p1">“He’s in Malibu, actually. Had a business meeting.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"He let you invite others into this golden palace of his?" Gigi asks, and Kendall nudges her in a way that tells me something is going on here that I don't know about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I turn back to the papers I'm still trying to clean up, shuffling them into a semi-neat pile. "I live here now, too." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Right." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Just in time for something else to happen at an inconvenient time, the stairs start to creak to indicate Vivian is coming back down and probably all done with tailoring. The measuring tape is draped over each of her shoulders, and she looks relatively shocked at the six faces looking at her hit the foyer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I'm sorry, Mr. Tomlinson, I didn't know you were expecting guests," she says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"No need to apologize, Vivian," I reply, getting up to let her out of the apartment. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I finished tailoring the suits for you and Mr. Styles. If they still don't fit properly, I'd be more than happy to stop by before the event. Mr. Styles will probably want that regardless." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I'll pass the word on to him." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">She smiles politely, grabbing her purse from the collection of things on the coat rack before hugging me goodbye. I stand there looking at the door out of eyesight, pressing my forehead against the door and trying to take a deep breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I wince when I hear, "Mr. Tomlinson, the dinner is ready whenever you and your guests would like to be served," and press a closed fist against the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Breathe, Louis," I tell myself, taking another deep breath and then walking back into the living room with a smile. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-converted-space">"A chef <em>and </em></span>a seamstress," Gigi notes. </p><p class="p1">"She's a stylist," I answer without thinking, regret already sitting in the pit of my stomach. "She happens to like to sew as well." </p><p class="p1">"That's right, that's right." Gi presses her index finger to her chin like she's thinking. "And there's an actual tailor, right? Robert, I believe? You told me about him a few months back." </p><p class="p1">"I worked for him too," Kendall mutters. "He helped with my designs." </p><p class="p1">"Yeah," I breathe out, shoving my hands into the pockets of these shorts. I swear the air is growing colder and colder by the second. </p><p class="p1">Natalie picks up on the awkward energy, throwing her hands up in a happy exclamation of "Let's eat!" that I'm more than grateful for. </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Phillip made a beautiful steak with potato and asparagus side dishes that are keeping everyone away from any sort of serious conversation. </p><p class="p1">Natalie took the reigns halfway through the silence to start talking about the venues she and Liam are sorting out for the wedding. They've apparently narrowed it to a couple of the Hamptons--including the one attached to one of her family's vacation homes--a studio space in Philadelphia, and a beach setting in New Jersey. Which seems like a lot, as she so casually noted, but not in comparison to their starting number of over thirty different places. </p><p class="p1">Liam dabs at his lips with a napkin, saying my name as he folds it back in his lap. I look over at him and watch Natalie look at him sweetly while sliding a hand into his lap I can only assume is intertwining with one of his. </p><p class="p1">"There's actually something I wanted to ask you." I raise my eyebrows to signal him to keep going. "I know there's a lot on your plate, so it's totally okay if you want to say, but I wanted to know if you wanted to be my best man?" </p><p class="p1">If I had a drink, I think I would choke on it. </p><p class="p1">"Your best man?" </p><p class="p1">"My best man," he repeats excitedly. </p><p class="p1">"Oh my god, this is so cute," Kendall says as she's looking between us. "Louis please say yes." </p><p class="p1">Liam laughs, holding a hand up in her direction. "Don't listen to her. This is completely up to you. I want it to be you, of course, but I understand if you would want to turn it down just with the bar and your mom and everything else." </p><p class="p1">He's right, and there's a part of me that should turn it down for my own mental sanity but it's Liam. The same Liam who I met a few years back when we were both trying to get into the same law program here, who I spent hours upon hours in the library with, and got too many drinks with to count after a stressful evening class, and watched this entire engagement process unfold with--I even helped to pick out the damn ring.</p><p class="p1">Plus, this could really be good for me. This would give me something more to look forward to than my therapy appointments and the next time I can sit down and study torts or civil procedure or something else. </p><p class="p1">I'll get to plan one hell of a bachelor party. </p><p class="p1">"I'm in," I answer with a smile.</p><p class="p1">"You're in?" </p><p class="p1">"I'm in, Li. I'm honored you thought of me." </p><p class="p1">"Wouldn't think of anyone else." </p><p class="p1">Natalie raises her glass then, gesturing to everyone else to do the same. "To Louis being the best man." </p><p class="p1">"To Louis being the best man," the table echoes, and then we all take a long drink. </p><p class="p1">Liam and I share one more respectful glance before I turn towards Kendall and Gigi. </p><p class="p1">"Kendall, how's work?" </p><p class="p1">"God, it's amazing," she beams, tipping her head back in a dramatic showing of being absolutely in love with the position. "I just designed a few things for fucking Gucci." </p><p class="p1">"No shit!" </p><p class="p1">"<em>Yeah.</em>" Kendall goes back to cutting into her steak. "You know, I probably have Harry to thank for some of that. I wish he was here." </p><p class="p1">"What does he have to do with anything?" Gigi asks her like Kendall saying that is a personal attack. </p><p class="p1">"A lot of prominent people wore my designs, babe. Plus, he seems to be into the fashion industry, so I don't doubt he talked about it." </p><p class="p1">"Harry talks about that kind of stuff to his business partners like crazy," I agree with her, scooping up some mashed potatoes and shoving them into my mouth. It's weird how I sound like someone who might know what his boyfriend is all about. </p><p class="p1">"That doesn't mean he talked about your designs." </p><p class="p1">"You say it like they aren't good." </p><p class="p1">"No, I don't," Gigi argues back with her, and I exchange a glance with Zayn in the midst of it. </p><p class="p1">"Z, are you seeing anyone these days?" </p><p class="p1">He perks up at my question, nodding to whatever thought just passed through his head. "Gretchen." </p><p class="p1">Gretchen. </p><p class="p1">The girl who managed to scar me in my own apartment by going down on him when I was literally right there. </p><p class="p1">"Haven't you two been down this road before?" </p><p class="p1">"We're serious this time," he protests, fishing for his phone and then showing me a picture of the two of them at dinner. </p><p class="p1">"Look at you two cleaning up nicely." </p><p class="p1">"Work gave me a bit of a bonus, so I was able to take her La Grenouille."</p><p class="p1">"That place is delicious," Natalie chimes in. "Liam took me on our anniversary last year." </p><p class="p1">"We both tried duck for the first time." </p><p class="p1">"Oh, the Provençale is absolutely to die for. You should try that if you two make it back." </p><p class="p1">"What's that?" </p><p class="p1">"Frog." </p><p class="p1">Zayn makes a face that Natalie is fast to protest against. "No, no, seriously it's so good. I think we had it with that appetizer with the caviar." </p><p class="p1">God, she would get along so well with Harry. </p><p class="p1">"That's right, that's right," Liam says before he takes a sip of his drink. </p><p class="p1">I lean back in my chair in a stretch, my eyes just catching the pile of books and papers across the room. I manage to push that out of my head with a literal shake, settling back with my elbows on the table and listening to the soothing hum of conversation. I haven't had a moment just like this in so long--my friends all settled into their own dialogues, my ears content with listening, a buzz settling in that has absolutely nothing to do with cocaine or ecstasy or even the drag of a joint. </p><p class="p1">If Harry were here, it would be absolutely perfect. </p><p class="p1">My life with him clashing with my life like this, mingling exactly how it should. </p><p class="p1">"Mr. Tomlinson?" Phillip's voice behind me cuts through my thoughts. "The dessert is ready if you're all finished with the main course." </p><p class="p1">"The dinner was amazing," Natalie adds with a look of appreciation everyone but Gigi agrees with. </p><p class="p1">"Thank you, miss," Phillip says with a small bow of his head. </p><p class="p1">I take a look at everyone's plates and then decide for myself that they're ready for dessert. "I'll help you with these, Phillip." </p><p class="p1">Phillip has six plates with a decadent-looking chocolate cake resting in the middle, a small drip of strawberry syrup pouring off the sides artistically, and two entire strawberries resting in the same corner. </p><p class="p1">"I made something I figured everyone would like." </p><p class="p1">"I hope you saved one for yourself," I tell him over my shoulder as I try to balance the third plate somewhere between my hands and my arms. He swoops in for the save, easily balancing a fourth on his opposite arm. </p><p class="p1">"These are just for the guests." </p><p class="p1">Phillip starts to walk towards the door, Zayn and Natalie's voice the most obvious out of the excited exclamations. I watch them all react for a second, Phillip brushing past me when he's done serving everyone but Liam and I. That's my responsibility.</p><p class="p1">"Phillip, you can leave now if you want." </p><p class="p1">"You don't want me to stay to do the dishes?" </p><p class="p1">"No," I shake my head. "Go enjoy your weekend. I can handle it even if Mr. Styles normally can't." </p><p class="p1">Phillip gives me a knowing look. He almost lost his mind when I told him that Harry nearly burned down the entire kitchen trying to cook scrambled eggs. </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">It takes approximately twenty minutes of meaningless conversation before Gigi drops her fork loudly on the table. </p><p class="p1">"Okay, are we all just going to ignore how fucking weird this is?" </p><p class="p1">"Gi," Kendall tells her quietly and it sounds like a warning. </p><p class="p1">"What's weird?" Zayn asks from the end of the table, leaning over Kendall to see her. </p><p class="p1">"You should think this is the weirdest," Gigi tells him with a point of her finger. "He left the apartment you shared to be some sort of live-in prostitute." </p><p class="p1">My face falls along with my heart and my stomach and every other organ in my body. </p><p class="p1">"<em>Gi,</em>" Kendall says more assertively this time. </p><p class="p1">"No, I mean, this is fucking ridiculous. Do you think you're better than us or something? Flaunting around this penthouse towering over the rest of the city that you only have because men <em>always</em> love you and your stupid fucking nice ass that I'm sure Harry really took an affinity to." </p><p class="p1">I stand up before even answering, pointing at the archway leading out of the living room. "Now." </p><p class="p1">I scan through the blueprint of the layout while we're walking, trying to pick out a room to take her to talk about this that's both away from the masses but not going to contribute to whatever anger she has towards this lavishness. Naturally, I come up short, but she looks like she really wants to yell so maybe the best spot is the balcony. </p><p class="p1">She follows me with a vengeance up the stairs, down the hall, into Harry and I's bedroom, and then out of the door. The wind is blowing hard, and I can barely see her considering the sun already set but this will have to do. </p><p class="p1">"You surely made a spectacle to get me up here," she says, crossing her arms firmly in front of her chest. </p><p class="p1">"<em>I </em>made the spectacle? What the fuck is <em>your</em> problem, Gi?" </p><p class="p1">"This!" She throws her arms up and twirls around in emphasis towards the penthouse. "This is absurd, Louis. Why did you invite us here? Seriously? To just rub it in our faces that you're getting paid to be bent over the bed ten feet away from us?" </p><p class="p1">"It's not like that." </p><p class="p1">"Oh no? Sure seems like it. Since when are you the butler and the chef and the tailor and stylist type?"</p><p class="p1">"Since when do you judge so harshly?" </p><p class="p1">"Since my best friend is an actual sugar baby. Jesus, Louis, I knew you loved attention but <em>this </em>much?" </p><p class="p1">"First of all, it isn't even like that. Second of all, if it was then so fucking what?" </p><p class="p1">"So fucking <em>everything</em>." </p><p class="p1">"Not so fucking everything!"</p><p class="p1">"This isn't fair!" She yells and then looks down at her feet. </p><p class="p1">"What isn't fair?" Clearly, whatever it is she can't say to my face, or else she wouldn't be staring down at the ground like it's matter of life or death. </p><p class="p1">"Nothing." </p><p class="p1">"No, Gigi, what isn't fair?" </p><p class="p1">"I worked hard for a life like this--" </p><p class="p1">"You worked hard for a life like this?" What is that supposed to mean? That I didn't work hard for this? </p><p class="p1">"I worked hard. I deserve this. You just--you walked into the club and you were an instant hit and I worked three times as hard as you and yet you're here and--</p><p class="p1">"Oh, this will be rich," I say with a roll of my eyes. </p><p class="p1">She shakes her head and drops her original train of thought. "I deserve this. I came from nothing, and I built this life for myself, and I deserve this. I put up with all of the drug use from my parents, and I raised my siblings, and I came here with no money and no prospects and I fucking deserve this. Your life was easy, Louis. You had parents who loved you, and you weren't dealing with the manipulation and the people coming in and out of your house with heroin needles and you didn't have to scrape yourself out of bed in the morning to get by." </p><p class="p1">"I didn't?" I ask with a raise of an eyebrow, anger starting to boil hot and heavy in my veins. "Maybe I didn't have the drug addict parents or the shitty childhood, Gi. I'll give you that. But I had a mother, a dead mother now, may I add, who took up so much of my energy for so long that I don't even know how to exist without her bouncing in and out of hospitals and trying different treatments, and those bills? They didn't pay themselves. My dad contributed to a certain degree, but I footed those bills. I footed those bills and my school loans and my living expenses, and in case you haven't noticed, I haven't exactly handled all of that shit well. You know, the whole coke addiction and the experimenting with other drugs, and the binges, and stupid shit I put myself through just to get my mind to settle down, and then I meet Harry, and sure we have this weird dynamic at first but then we fall in love and it's complicated and sometimes frustrating but also beautiful and he quiets my mind and honestly, Gi, fuck you for suggesting that I don't deserve this. We both walked through dirt to get here even if it didn't look the same." </p><p class="p1">Gigi looks up but not at me. "I'm just going to go." </p><p class="p1">She starts to walk away, and I naturally follow her. "That's it? You're going to start a whole storm and then not sit down to finish it?" </p><p class="p1">"I'm not doing this, Louis." </p><p class="p1">"You started this." </p><p class="p1">"And I'm choosing not to finish it."</p><p class="p1">"I think that's kind of a bitch thing to do, don't you?"</p><p class="p1">"I think that I don't care what you think," she turns to me to say when she hits the bottom of the stairs. "We're leaving, guys." </p><p class="p1">"Wh--" I turn to look at them all sit there in confusion. "You don't decide what the rest of them do." </p><p class="p1">"Actually, I do," she snaps, grabbing her and Kendall's portions of the things off of the rack. "Unlike you, I can't afford a fancy fucking driver to cart me around. We all shared an uber to get here." Gigi peeks her head around the corner. "Guys, let's go." </p><p class="p1">"What's going on?" Natalie asks carefully, the others trailing behind her as they all entire the foyer. </p><p class="p1">"I'm just--I want to go home, so we're all going home." </p><p class="p1">She opens the door aggressively and walks out without saying goodbye. Kendall looks distressedly between me and her girlfriend, settling on a heavy, frustrated sigh and kissing me on the cheek. </p><p class="p1">"I'm sorry for this," she says quietly. "I'll talk to her." </p><p class="p1">So there was something happening behind the scenes I didn't know about, something that Kendall knew long before they got here. </p><p class="p1">Cool. </p><p class="p1">"Thank you for the dinner and the dessert, Lou," Natalie says sweetly, also kissing me on the cheek. </p><p class="p1">I smile in response, embracing Zayn and Liam, and telling Liam I'll be in contact with him about setting up the wedding. </p><p class="p1">Then they're gone. </p><p class="p1">The sudden storm leaves behind a relatively shocking silence that makes me shudder and my shoulders sag as I look in the direction of the dishes. I'm starting to regret telling Phillip to go home tonight, but I figured I'd be on the buzz of a social high and not a crash of a brutal comedown when everyone decided to leave. </p><p class="p1">I put music on to fill the quiet, one of Harry's playlists on the default on my phone from the last time we listened together. </p><p class="p1">Thankfully, it's calming enough to convince the adrenaline in my body to slow down and not break the plates I'm starting to soak in the sink. The first song is Coastline by Hollow Coves, followed by Alaska by Novah. </p><p class="p1">My scrubbing is a little too aggressive for these delicate plates. </p><p class="p1">Relax, relax, relax. </p><p class="p1">I start humming along to the lyrics just to put my focus on something else. </p><p class="p1">
  <em>A restless soul calls for action--in control but always on the run.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>spice and then therapy and then happiness turned into unhappiness</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the way i am taunted by my own selection of thirty chapters... who's to say what will really happen </p><p>also can we TALK about the domestics of the spicy scene lmao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I ride him slowly, sheets sticking to our skin. His hand is on my stomach, moving upwards to rub over my nipples and then settle near the base of my neck. My legs are getting tired, but it’s too fluid for me to stop. He’s not even touching my cock, and I think I’ll be able to get off just like this.</p><p class="p1">“Missed this,” Harry says, his chest covered in a beautiful film of his sweat, my sweat.</p><p class="p1">“Missed this so much,” I breathe out in response, my head tipping back in total bliss. It’s not even nine in the morning.</p><p class="p1">“Missed you too,” he adds, both hands now resting on my hips and helping me move on him.</p><p class="p1">I hum in response, shifting so my arms are wrapped around his neck and my lips are on his. He tastes like a combination of sweet salt and toothpaste—an obvious reminder that we were barely out of bed before I dragged him right back into it.</p><p class="p1">My thighs burn, his fingertips digging into my hips almost painfully. Harry holds me still, thrusting upwards into me as I can do nothing besides moan out into the room, the sounds falling out of his lips complimenting mine perfectly.</p><p class="p1">I think we’re learning how to mesh more and more every day.</p><p class="p1">“When do you have to be at the office?” I ask, shifting to kiss at his neck.</p><p class="p1">He flips us over so he’s on top, hands bracketing my head in. “An hour or so. Are you sure you don’t need me at your appointment today?”</p><p class="p1">I nod, pausing before answering to arch my back and rub off against his stomach. How does this feel so fucking <em>good</em>?</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure,” I finally say after a beat. Harry’s hand starts to drift down between us, but I bat it away. “I want to without touching.”</p><p class="p1">Not that I’ll even have much to show for an orgasm considering this is the third time this morning.</p><p class="p1">“Have you talked to Gigi? I still can’t believe she said that to you.”</p><p class="p1">“No,” I strain to say as he hits my prostate square on. “I’ve talked to Kendall, though.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh?”</p><p class="p1">“Gi’s going through something. I’m sure she’ll talk to me when she’s ready—<em>Fuck</em>, right there.” I grip hard at his back, nails digging into whatever skin is in my path.</p><p class="p1">“Are you sure about that?”</p><p class="p1">I’m cut off by my own orgasm, the few streaks of come hitting my stomach as my hips roll to meet Harry’s thrusts. He pulls out a few seconds later, jerking off quickly until he’s coming over my ass and my cock, some of it hitting my stomach to mix with my own.</p><p class="p1">We’re really going to need a shower.</p><p class="p1">“No, I’m not sure about that,” I answer when he rolls off of me and collapses with a groan.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Just don't apologize first, okay? You didn't do anything wrong." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I know." I do. I know. </span>
</p><p class="p1">Harry slaps his forearm over his face, mouth stuck open as he tries to catch his breath. I lean over to kiss his chest slowly, massaging at his sides.</p><p class="p1">“No,” he says with an almost laugh. “I can’t—I’ll have a heart attack.”</p><p class="p1">“Relax,” I laugh back, pecking his nipple and then resting my chin on my folded hands on his chest. “I don’t want a round four, buuut you should come home in the middle of the night more often for sex marathons like this.”</p><p class="p1">He pulls his hand back, eyes slightly heavy and a multiple orgasm glow on his face. “My brain will be mush during my meetings today. I’m still trying to get enough people on board to make the transition to my own company, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“I know,” I reply, moving off of the bed to pad my way into the en suite. One look in the mirror over the sink is enough to make me shy away from my own reflection. Yikes. “How many are you up to now?”</p><p class="p1">“Three or four.”</p><p class="p1">“And you wanted seven?”</p><p class="p1">“I wanted seven,” he agrees while I shove a toothbrush into my mouth. I’ll start there on my cleaning journey and work my way down.</p><p class="p1">Harry walks in while I’m spitting into the sink, pressing against my back to squeeze past me. He definitely doesn’t need to do that with the size of this bathroom, but he’s greedy. I don’t mind.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure you’ll get it sorted, babe.”</p><p class="p1">He says something I can’t make out while he brushes his teeth now and I start the water for the shower. The pound of the jets feels wonderful after all of the muscles I just exerted.</p><p class="p1">Harry steps in soon after, plenty of room for both of us to get ready without seducing the other.</p><p class="p1">I’m starting to really live for just helping him wash his hair.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">“So you have the practice bar coming up in just a couple of weeks, yes?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, I do.”</p><p class="p1">“How are you feeling about it?”</p><p class="p1">I sigh, my fingers playing with the fuzz on the arm of the chair. “Nervous. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I’ve done all that I could.”</p><p class="p1">“Have you asked for help like we talked about?”</p><p class="p1">“I have,” I answer sincerely. “Harry runs flashcards with me sometimes and grades my workbook exams while I take a break to stretch my legs.”</p><p class="p1">“He sounds helpful.”</p><p class="p1">“He is,” I nod, noticing the way the carpet patterns fade in some spots but seem new in others. “I’ve been better at handling myself when he leaves. I invited friends over.”</p><p class="p1">“How’d that go?”</p><p class="p1">My eyes drift from the carpet back to the armchair and then over to the psychology magazines resting on the coffee table separating us.</p><p class="p1">“Liam asked me to be his best man.”</p><p class="p1">“Congratulations.”</p><p class="p1">“Thanks,” I half-smile, my leg starting to bounce. I place my palm over top of my knee to try and stop myself. “Zayn’s actually seeing someone seriously now, and Natalie’s well. Excited about the wedding, of course. Kendall gets to draw for Gucci, and Gigi—“ I shake my head, rubbing my fingers over my temples. “I don’t know what’s going on with us.”</p><p class="p1">“Did you two get into a fight?”</p><p class="p1">“We did. I just—I’m still not really sure what happened. She was jealous of the kind of life I’ve been living since Harry and I started dating, I guess, and she thought I didn’t deserve it because I haven’t had to work as hard.”</p><p class="p1">“Is that true?”</p><p class="p1">“No, it’s not true,” I answer a little defensively, focused on his coffee mug on the table next to him. There are small stains on the outside of the cup. He must be prone to overfilling it. “She had a rough start at life that evened out, and I had an even start that got a little rough. We’ve both had our challenges.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s been a few months since your mother’s death,” he says like he’s defining one of the challenges on my side of things.</p><p class="p1">I shift uncomfortably, finally looking at him. “That was a sharp transition, Dr. Brooke.”</p><p class="p1">“We don’t have to talk about it.” He crosses one foot over his thigh, looking at me like he knows I’ve spent a lot of time not talking about it. “You seem to have a lot going on, Louis. The new move, your bar exam, Liam asking you to be his best man, Gigi, your mom. It’s my job to ask you how you’re handling your stress.”</p><p class="p1">I know what he’s getting at.</p><p class="p1">I swallow, running a hand through my hair and then down my face. Both of my legs feel restless, shifting to find a comfortable position to exist.</p><p class="p1">“I used again.”</p><p class="p1">“You used again,” he says slowly, prompting me to continue. I don’t want to, really, but I hear Harry’s voice echo in my head. I need this.</p><p class="p1">“Harry was in Malibu, and it was the day after I invited them for dinner. He wouldn’t be back for almost a week still, and I was just studying and couldn’t focus. I have a stash I keep for moments like that in a coat pocket on my side of the closet.”</p><p class="p1">“Does Harry knows about that?”</p><p class="p1">I hang my head a bit, rubbing at the back of my neck. “He doesn’t.”</p><p class="p1">“Have you told him about using again?”</p><p class="p1">“I haven’t.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you going to tell him?”</p><p class="p1">“All of these questions,” I laugh nervously.</p><p class="p1">“Your discomfort is actually a good sign, Louis,” Dr. Brooke says with an almost smile of encouragement. “That means you realize your mistakes. It’s a sign of breaking patterns.”</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">Harry doesn’t come home until after dinner time.</p><p class="p1">I let Phillip leave after lunch because I wanted to cook to clear my head. He left me a pile of recipes he considered for this evening, and I picked one with fish tacos and light summer salsa.</p><p class="p1">I have to tell him.</p><p class="p1">I look up at him in the middle of chopping onions, and he’s loosening his tie with an obvious interest in what I’m doing. I smile before looking back down.</p><p class="p1">“How was work, babe?”</p><p class="p1">He presses a quick kiss to my cheek and then opens the fridge, grabbing a can of one of the new IPAs for himself and then slides one over to me.</p><p class="p1">“I have six out of seven now.”</p><p class="p1">Harry’s beaming when I look back up at him, a wide smile plastered on his face while he’s bent over the counter with his chin in his palm.</p><p class="p1">“Holy <em>shit</em>," I beam back. "Harry, that's amazing." </p><p class="p1">“I can almost taste the finish line now. Imagine a life separated from my fucking father.” He nods towards the can in front of me. “Crack that. Let’s cheer, and then I’ll let you get back to cooking what smells absolutely amazing.”</p><p class="p1">“Mahi Mahi tacos,” I tell him, dropping my knife in favor of cracking open the can. We shove them together, a little bit dripping down onto the can and my fingers. I take a long sip as he takes his, pulling away with a gasp of satisfied breath.</p><p class="p1">I have to tell him.</p><p class="p1">“I’m going to wash up,” he says, walking over to me and wrapping his hands around my waist. “Thanks for making dinner tonight, babe.”</p><p class="p1">His lips on my neck are a bit intoxicating, and I shrug as I say, “No big deal. I wanted to.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re the best,” he sighs, biting down softly. “Expect lots of celebratory sex after dinner.”</p><p class="p1">I curl a hand around the back of his head, laughing into the playful nature of his planting kisses all over my neck and my face.</p><p class="p1">He’s so happy.</p><p class="p1">I have to tell him.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I'm silent through most of dinner, and he's too excited to notice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">That's okay. I don't fault him for it. He's trying to make a big life change and it's actually working for him. In a way, I guess I'm jealous. He's tackling his issues head-on, taking action. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">And I just have to tell him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I take a small sip of the same beer as I watch him talk with his hands about the process he went through today. He almost lost the sixth person until they gathered back together after lunch, and he had an instant realization about what he should do. It was smooth sailing from there, he says, and the rest of his words start molding together into one long string. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">There are so many ways to get out of this tonight. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I've been milking this same beer since he got home and all through dinner. I could easily chug the rest, get another, try to catch up to where I know he is. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I could dump the dishes in the sink after we're done, hop up onto the counter, part my legs for him to settle in between. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I could go down on him right now when he least expects it--on my knees under the table while I blink up at him with the eyelashes he loves and tell him I'm proud of him before he shoots down my throat and I stick out my tongue to have him watch me swallow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I could. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I have to fucking tell him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Harry--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"This is going to mean great things for me but also for you. I mean, I know I haven't nailed down the seventh person yet, but this gave me all of the confidence to know that I will. I won't even have to take any major income cuts." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Babe--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He snaps his fingers, pointing at me and leaning back in his chair. "Anywhere you want to go, we're going. Literally. Just give me a list of all of the places you've wanted to see, and I'll coordinate all of it. We can go right after your practice exam. Have you been to Italy?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I open my mouth to say his name again and settle on saying, "No, I haven't." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You'd love Italy. The food is amazing. We'll avoid my sister down there, of course. Won't even tell her we're coming. I've stayed in a few villas on the coast with gorgeous views. Plus, the <em>wine</em>. You think the stuff I have here is good? Try it fresh out of the vineyard. We'll sip wine by the beach and tan all day. I'd kill to see you in a pair of short, tight swim trunks." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Louis. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Harry, can we talk?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He stops talking, face falling when he realizes that I look like I'm about to fall into oblivion. I wish that was dramatic, too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You don't--What's wrong?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I had therapy today." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I know," he says, furrowing his eyebrows. Of course he knows, Louis, you two just fucking talked about it this morning. Not to mention he hasn't missed a single appointment up until today, always waiting in the car or in the waiting room to deal with the aftermath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He's good to me. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Now I have to tell him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"We talked about some things, and I--" My mouth goes dry and suddenly nothing's coming out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Harry reaches a hand out to rest over top of mine. "Baby, what's going on? Did you talk about your mom or your family? Is that what this is about?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"No," I shake my head. "No, that's definitely not what this is about." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I don't realize I'm crying until he scoots closer, running a thumb under my eye to wipe away a tear. "Lou, you're crying. Talk to me." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I look up at the ceiling, take one long, <em>long</em> deep breath to prepare myself for whatever's going to happen the moment I actually grow the balls to open my mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I used again." I don't look at him. I don't have to. His hand comes off of mine, and the action feels exactly like I thought I would. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Louis." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"While you were away. It was after the party. I'm sorry," I sigh out, really crying now. I bring my palms up to wipe at my cheeks, and I look back at him who's staring in the opposite direction of me with his hand over his mouth. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I just--It got to be a little too much." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Why didn't you tell me?" He snaps suddenly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"What? I just did--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Why didn't you tell me the moment it happened?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I was embarrassed, and you were away for work. I didn't want to distract you--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Oh, so this is any better? You just let me believe that you were totally fine, Lou." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I was fine."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You were fine?" He asks, scoffing with a raise of his eyebrows. "You were so fine you decided to snort powder up your nose again. Damn it, Louis, we talked the night after, too. Were you high then?" I don't answer, the lengthy pause giving him all he needs to know. "Fuck. We got off together." He stops talking, his voice fading into the silence of the room. I lost my appetite, pushing the plate away from me and sitting on the edge of my seat. Harry takes a breath and then stands up abruptly. "Show me where it is." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Where what is?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"The stash, Louis, I'm not stupid." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Harry--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"<em>Where</em> is it?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I stand up slowly, taking the lead as I walk up the stairs, into our bedroom and then into the closet. I open up my section, sifting through the few suits hanging up until I settle on the one Vivian finished when she was here. My hands practically shaking when I slide it into the suit pocket, producing a crumbled-up piece of aluminum foil and a couple of empty bags. As I hold it in the palm of my hand, I realize how absurd the amount I actually have is. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"This is all of it." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You swear?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I swear," I nod. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"If I find anymore--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You won't." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He nods, but it's tentative like he doesn't know if he can believe me but errs on the side of doing it anyways. "Get rid of it." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"How do you want me to?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">"Flush it." </p><p class="p1">There was a time the idea would make me want to burst into tears out of necessity, out of craving, out of the amount of money I invested. </p><p class="p1">This time, I just know I messed up. </p><p class="p1">"I'll flush it." </p><p class="p1">"Do it now." He's stern with his words. </p><p class="p1">I walk across our bedroom to the en suite, and he follows close behind me. I open up all of the bags, disassemble the aluminum foil, and then I lift the toilet seat to pour all of it inside the bowl. The powder falls like snow, collecting on the surface of the water. Harry grabs each bag as I'm emptying them, throwing them away in the trash can nearby. </p><p class="p1">Both of us stand there when I hit the handle, watching the drugs flush down into the city drain. After the noise of the toilet ceases, it's just the two of us in silence. I look over at him, searching his face for any sort of indication of how he's feeling. </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Luckily, he doesn't make me guess. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I'm sorry." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He holds a hand up to silence me, mouth closed in a tight line as he shakes his head with his eyes closed for a moment before opening them again. "Do you remember when I told you that Nick likes to take?" I nod. "Yeah. He likes to take. The other men in my life, they liked taking, too. They were good at it. They would take and they would take and they would take and I would let them because I thought that's what I needed to do until I had nothing. I know that what you did isn't the same, and I know that you're not trying to hurt me. I know that." I open my mouth, but he silences me before I can even offer a syllable. "I love you, Louis, and I can't do this again. You can't--When you do this, it feels a lot like taking, and I don't want to be taken from. Not by you. Please." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Harry kisses me on the forehead before I can speak, clearly not wanting to hear anything right now. I let him walk away to call Lawerence and ask him for the car for a while. He needs to clear his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I used to think the worst thing to feel was fucked up, but I think the worst feeling is that sinking feeling after hurting someone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">After hurting Harry. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>so basically this is how it goes: lou and gi talk, harry and lou make-up, liam's bachleor party commences, and the title song makes one heck of an appearence</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is like 5k words lmao i don't know how this happened </p><p>regardless, thank you over 4000 hits?? that's actually?? insane?? </p><p>also, next chapter is the liam x natalie wedding!!! and harry and louis going to hang out in italy &lt;3 </p><p>xo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">New York requires something called the Uniform Bar Exam.</p><p class="p1">It’s a two-day test on a 400 point scale. Different states require different scores to pass, and New York has the bar low—score a 266 and now you’re a lawyer.</p><p class="p1">Congratulations.</p><p class="p1">Of course, the aim is always to score higher so the score could easily transfer between states if there was ever a reason to move.</p><p class="p1">Liam called me last week and told me he scored a 360.</p><p class="p1">I push the doors open to my testing building, and I have absolutely no idea what my score might look like.</p><p class="p1">It’s a warm summer day for New York City, June peeking through the clouds, the semesters behind the students filling the streets with headphones and La Croix cans and outfits leaving nothing to the imagination. A couple of guys pass by on skateboards, another on a bike.</p><p class="p1">I wanted to walk back to Harry’s place—I keep calling it that even though it’s technically <em>ours—</em>so Niall’s car is nowhere to be seen along the curb. Not that he would mind, of course. He’ll have the whole day off now in preparation.</p><p class="p1">There’s a coffee shop on the route that doesn’t look as busy, so I walk in to buy something with way too much caffeine in an attempt to wake my brain up and out of lawlawlaw.</p><p class="p1">When I turn my phone back on as I wait in line, a couple of texts pop up from the people who remembered this was happening today: Liam and Natalie in our group chat wishing me the best of luck, Harry with a simple <em>You got this, Lou. Make yourself proud.</em></p><p class="p1">We still aren’t really talking.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Well, we're talking, but not about anything outside of the situation. There's something standing in the middle of us we haven't been able to kick yet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">The door opens behind me, the bell ringing to indicate to staff there’s another customer. Whoever it is apparently enjoys talking rather loudly on the phone in public, their voice an almost shrill scream at whatever was just said on the other line.</p><p class="p1">I can’t make out the words until they’re right behind me, launching into a conversation about what this means for the two of them and <em>wait</em>.</p><p class="p1">My heart drops.</p><p class="p1">If I don’t turn around, there’s nothing happening. Absolutely no one here. This is just me waiting to buy a coffee and sneak out the door without being detected.</p><p class="p1">I could do it. Just have to keep my cool.</p><p class="p1">That’s not hard, right?</p><p class="p1">“Lou?”</p><p class="p1">Fuck me.</p><p class="p1">I turn around like I don’t know who it is despite the fact I have every vocal pitch memorized.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, Gi.”</p><p class="p1">She’s wearing a white cropped tank top and a dark pair of tight jeans rolled at the ankle, Birkenstocks complimenting her well-manicured feet. She always exerts the most effort during the summertime.</p><p class="p1">“What are you doing here? I’m in here all the time, and I’ve never seen you.”</p><p class="p1">“I just came out of my practice bar exam and was heading back to Harry’s. Need a coffee. It’ll be a late night.”</p><p class="p1">“Because of the parties tonight?” Gigi asks, obviously referring to Liam’s bachelor party starting in a few hours now and at the same time at Natalie’s bachelorette.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t even know half of the girls going to Natalie’s. We’re all in this massive group chat together, and I only have Kendall.”</p><p class="p1">“Liam wanted to keep his small, so I guess I’m lucky.”</p><p class="p1">“Is it just you and Harry and Zayn?”</p><p class="p1">“A couple of his friends from other classes too.”</p><p class="p1">“Cool.” I nod, starting to turn around when she starts asking another question with urgency like she doesn’t want this end. “How was the exam?”</p><p class="p1">“Fine,” I reply shortly, turning back around again, and she continues in the same fashion.</p><p class="p1">“What kind of coffee are you getting?”</p><p class="p1">I turn around fast, narrowing my eyes. “What are you doing, Gi?”</p><p class="p1">“What do you mean?”</p><p class="p1">“You haven’t spoken to me in weeks, and now you’re here acting like nothing happened.”</p><p class="p1">“Look, Lou, about that. There’s this thing going on in my personal life, and it just sort of carried over—“</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through, but it really fucking sucked. After everything, I didn’t deserve that.”</p><p class="p1">“Sir?” The man behind the counter says, and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.</p><p class="p1">I order a black coffee with a few shots of espresso, standing off to the side to wait for it while Gigi orders hers. She pays in cash, and the guy makes a comment about needing to go get change and scurries off to the back. Gi looks over at me with her purse still open and hands on top of the counter.</p><p class="p1">“Can we at least talk?”</p><p class="p1">“What is there to talk about?”</p><p class="p1">“Just sit down and drink this with me? Please?”</p><p class="p1">I settle down with a grudge at a small table outside with her after she gets her coffee, pouring one of the vanilla creamer packets into the cup. She mixes her iced coffee with a straw, taking a sip and then looking at me uneasily while fiddling with a napkin.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t have very long,” I tell her, and that’s not even untrue. I need to get back to change and double-check that everything is in order tonight. Really, she probably should too.</p><p class="p1">“I went back home a few days before the get-together.” Home is Topeka, Kansas, a small historic home with a wrap-around porch too big for itself and yellow siding. She hasn’t been there in all of the time I’ve known her.</p><p class="p1">“My brother’s going to jail.”</p><p class="p1">“Jail?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” she sighs. “I wanted to be there for the court date. It’s been years since I went back home. I needed to see him.”</p><p class="p1">I look at her confused. Jail? From what I know about her brother—which is admittedly not much—he doesn’t strike me as the type to commit crimes. He worked at a grocery store and lived in a small trailer home a little bit away from her childhood home, and he stopped in every day to take care of their mother.</p><p class="p1">“Did something happen?” It’s an obvious question. Of course something did. I just don’t know how to ask exactly what.</p><p class="p1">Gigi takes a sip of her coffee, twirling the straw around again to break up the wad of caramel stuck to the bottom. “A big storm came through. It’s tornado season, you know, and it was an F-5. I’ve only seen a few growing up, but I guess this one was the real deal. It tore straight through my neighborhood, left my mom with nothing. She was already struggling. The judge let her off probation but she went right back to shooting up. My brother takes of her, and he felt bad, but the market he works in went up with the storm, and he didn’t have a way to support her, so he started selling. Then when that wasn’t enough, he started really selling. Hard, hard drugs, I guess. Meth.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Meth</em>?”</p><p class="p1">She laughs sadly. “Apparently there’s a large local market. I would ask who knew, but my mom probably did. Hell, that could be why my dad disappeared that day. Blew up in a fucking meth lab.”</p><p class="p1">“How long does he have?”</p><p class="p1">“5 years.”</p><p class="p1">“Damn.”</p><p class="p1">She shrugs. “It could be worse. I don’t know. It was weird to see him. I’m still not really sure why I went. I know I said I wanted to see him, but it’s not like he ever did anything for me growing up. I took care of that family.”</p><p class="p1">I take a sip of my coffee now, sliding my sunglasses on when the direction of the sunlight changes. “I’m sorry. I can imagine that’s rough.”</p><p class="p1">Gi shakes her head, bunching a napkin up and slouching back in the chair. “No, I’m sorry. I just—You texted us that invite while I was still in Topeka watching my mom walk in the courtroom with all the needle marks in her arm. I looked up the address to see how far it was from Ken and I’s place and saw a picture and it made me want to cry. That’s not your fault, I know, and I felt shitty for the feelings I had. I hated you.”</p><p class="p1">“Wow.” The word falls flat off of my tongue, and the sympathy I want to give her is there. It is. It could drip from my lips at any second now.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t really hate you, though,” she’s fast to say. "You're my best friend, Lou. I was jealous. I <em>am</em> jealous. It's not a bad kind of jealously, either. I'm happy for you, really."</p><p class="p1">"You have a way of showing it." </p><p class="p1">"I know. I just didn't handle it well, and I'm sorry." </p><p class="p1">I don't want to fight. I'm tired, my head hurting from the caffeine and the hours I just spent taking the exam, my mind drifting to going home to Harry who may or may not be in the mood yet to put what happened behind us. </p><p class="p1">"Okay." </p><p class="p1">"Okay?" She asks with hesitation, narrowing her eyes in a probable attempt to try and read me when there's nothing to read and nothing else to say. </p><p class="p1">"Yeah. Okay." It'll take some time, but I don't have the energy to launch into the fine printed details. This is fine. We'll be okay. </p><p class="p1">"Okay," Gi repeats back, smiling to herself and dropping the napkin she bunched up in her hand on the table. "So you and Harry are serious?" </p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p2">Harry walks past me in just his tighter fit pants, the cologne he just sprayed pleasantly filling my nose. </p><p class="p2">I watch him in the mirror in front of me as he opens his own closet, sorting through the shirts hanging on the left-hand side until he decides on one that I haven't seen yet. It's slightly sheer from the looks of it, flowery designs covering it, and two strips of solid black where the buttons are. His back muscles flex while he starts to slide it on, and I look away when I notice he's closing his own door and could notice me in his mirror. </p><p class="p2">I picked out the shirt I'm fumbling with during one of Vivian and I's shopping trips towards the beginning, but I haven't had a reason to wear it quite yet. It's Alexander McQueen. Came straight from London, the shop owner had said. I think it was something like $400, which while absurd is probably one of the cheapest things in this closet. It's viscose, apparently. Some sort of fabric I've never heard of. A mixture of bold red flower print and solid back, white buttons accentuating down the middle. </p><p class="p2">My fingers are working on the buttons, head down to watch what I'm doing, when I feel Harry behind me. </p><p class="p2">His hands move over my shoulders, and I realize a few seconds later that he's probably smoothing the fabric down. Then there's on my waist, working down until his fingers are overtop of mine, stopping me from going any further. </p><p class="p2">I look up at him in the mirror, the reflection of the two of us staring back. "What are you doing?" </p><p class="p2">"Let me finish." </p><p class="p2">I let my fingers fall away, turning to face him while he works gracefully on buttoning my shirt up. His face is one of concentration, brows slightly furrowed, his tongue resting in between his lips. I can tell he just shaved from this up close, aftershave mingling with the cologne I smelled before. One of his eyebrows looks a little messy, so I test my luck and reach up with my thumb to smooth the bump away. His eyes dart up to see what I'm doing, but he doesn't stop me. I'm thankful for that. </p><p class="p2">"You're going to need a haircut soon," I note when he's at the last two buttons towards the top, rolling a strand in between my fingertips. "Unless you're growing it out." </p><p class="p2">"No," he shakes his head, the last button securing the shirt together. "I want to keep it short."</p><p class="p2">"You want me to do it again?" I ask with the memory of him dragging a chair into the bathroom last month before he left for Malibu after a long day at work, him sitting with his stomach pressed against the front of it and shoving a pair of scissors into my hands because he didn't want to go to the barbers. He also didn't think he would be able to pull off finding seven people. Now that he's up to six, it could be different. </p><p class="p2">"I liked it when you cut it," he shrugs with a small smile that I only catch because I'm staring right at his lips. "You were surprisingly good at that." </p><p class="p2">"Yeah," I breathe out a slight laugh. "Thanks for buttoning this for me." </p><p class="p2">He licks his lips this time, scanning my body up and down. "You look really good." </p><p class="p2">"So do you." </p><p class="p2">"Armani." Of course. I swear half of his closet is just Armani. </p><p class="p2">"Alexander McQueen." </p><p class="p2">"I know," he says, a smug smirk coming over his face. </p><p class="p2">"Would expect nothing less." </p><p class="p2">He smiles. I smile back. We're standing there with mere inches between us, a million questions floating through the air and none of them are those I'm willing to ask out of fear that I don't like the answer. </p><p class="p2">"I don't want to go to this thing tonight still fighting," he says after a few more long moments of silence. </p><p class="p2">"I don't either." </p><p class="p2">"You've made me proud over the past month, Lou. Going to therapy regularly, you haven't used, you're talking to me." </p><p class="p2">"This isn't something I want to sacrifice," I reply, and that's honest. I don't want to lose him, and I don't want to lose him especially because I lost myself. Not after all of the effort I'm putting in to stay okay, to try and figure out how to exist without needing to pop open a bag and snort powder from a table. He's been so good about it, too, even after I did what I did. He checks up on me, he listens, he writes me notes of encouragement and scatters them around all of the places he'll know I'll be. I found one in my notebook yesterday before the first round of testing and another one today. </p><p class="p2">"I don't want that either," he agrees, "but I really just want you to be okay. I don't want to watch you hurt yourself." </p><p class="p2">"I'm learning a lot from Dr. Brooke. He's given me a lot of coping tools." </p><p class="p2">"And you still have the address for that group right? The one dealing with addiction and grief?" </p><p class="p2">I nod. "Yeah, I do. I was thinking of going to the meeting next week." </p><p class="p2">"You should." </p><p class="p2">"I can bring someone, too. If you wanted to come with me." </p><p class="p2">"Do you want me to come with you?" </p><p class="p2">"I do." </p><p class="p2">"Then I'll be there," he replies softly, arms wrapping around me to pull me into a tight hug. My fingers dig into his back, my nose burying itself in his chest while he's cradling the back of my head and pressing a long kiss into the top of my head. "I love you, Louis Tomlinson." </p><p class="p2">I smile against his shirt, gripping the skin of his back a little tighter. "I love you, Harry Styles." </p><p class="p2">"As you should for putting up with all of this crazy," he jokes, laughing when I pull away to push into his shoulder and then pulling me back in. "You're so worth it, baby. I know I'm not a picnic either." </p><p class="p2">"I think we're doing pretty okay considering." </p><p class="p2">"I think so, too," he says against my hair. "We'll keep figuring it out, too. Together." </p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p2">Niall turns up the dial at the request of the guests in the back, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I give him a knowing look, stifling my own laughter. </p><p class="p2">"This has to be driving him crazy," Harry says behind me, and I turn my head to see half of his face in between the side of the car and the headrest. </p><p class="p2">Niall glances over at us, shaking his head in playful disbelief and disdain. "You two talking about me?" </p><p class="p2">"No," I protest with the same tone. "We're just enjoying the music." </p><p class="p2">"It's like we're in a frat house basement." </p><p class="p2">"How would you know what a frat house basement sounds like, Mr. Horan?" </p><p class="p2">"I have a daughter, <em>Mr. Tomlinson</em>. She enjoys partying. Takes after her mother." </p><p class="p2">"How come I didn't know Lucia is down for a good time?" Harry asks, and all of a sudden there's a shot handed to me from the backseat from a hand that isn't his own. </p><p class="p2">"Drink up, Tomlinson! We're getting fucked <em>up</em> tonight." Liam raises his, tipping it back quickly. I raise mine to him, doing the same and scrunching my face at the burn of vodka running down my throat. </p><p class="p2">"The two of us met at a campus block party," Niall explains, visibly cringing when the next song plays with a heavy beat. "What is this?" </p><p class="p2">"I think it's Icon by Jaden Smith." </p><p class="p2">"Will Smith's son?" </p><p class="p2">"I'll leave you to deal with this one," Harry says in my ear, blowing me a subtle kiss and then disappearing back into the depths of the backseat. </p><p class="p2">I laugh at Niall's question, turning it down a few notches so Niall stops looking like he wants to drive over the edge of this bridge. "You'll have to make a left at the next light." </p><p class="p2">He nods, looking back in the rearview when he hears a decently loud commotion and Zayn yelling at someone else for spilling the liquor. "If you guys mess up this interior--" </p><p class="p2">"Harry will take care of any damages," I tell him to calm him down. "I told him they would all be a flight risk when they get like this." </p><p class="p2">They being mainly Zayn but also a couple of the guys I've met in passing when I'd be out partying with Liam during undergrad. One of them might've actually been the president of their fraternity, but I can't remember. We aren't the best of friends. </p><p class="p2">"And I thought having two teenage daughters would be stressful." </p><p class="p2">He makes his left, cruising until I tell him to make a right followed by another. There's another eruption of laughter from the back, and I'm partially grateful I decided to sit up here and give Niall directions rather than sit in the middle of whatever the hell is happening behind me. I haven't heard Harry say anything that even slightly sounds like a warning of being too much, so it can't be that bad. </p><p class="p2">"How'd Hannah's semester end up?" </p><p class="p2">"She made President's List," he says with a proud smile, looking over at me quickly after making another left. One more a mile or so up and we'll be there. </p><p class="p2">"That's awesome." </p><p class="p2">"And Olivia is going to start looking at colleges. I think she's considering something in the CUNY system or NYU. She wants to go into film." </p><p class="p2">"NYU would be perfect for that." </p><p class="p2">"It would," he agrees. "It's crazy to think I'll have two daughters in college. How'd your mom handle it?" </p><p class="p2">My heart only drops a little at being asked about her, and I can swallow that away in the moment--something that wouldn't have been able to happen even a few weeks ago. Progress. </p><p class="p2">"She didn't. I was the only one who went to college. Lottie took an alternative career path. She did talk a lot about how weird it was especially after Lots graduated." I should call Lottie. It's been a while since I've checked in. "Okay, that should be it on the side." </p><p class="p2">Niall hits the turn signal, turning into the parking lot. They probably don't know where we are, the alcohol clearly flowing between them. I listen to Harry unbuckle, kneeling on his seat to be the one to offer me another shot. </p><p class="p2">"You ready for this?" He asks me, cheering with me as we both down the shot. </p><p class="p2">"You're talking to someone who's lost a few days at a time taking cocaine, baby," I say, leaning forward to peck him quickly. "I can handle one more blackout." </p><p class="p2">Niall hops out to open the back door, all of the guys pouring out of the van and stretching. I step out, bringing my sunglasses up to the top of my head. I know this will the last time I see any fleck of sunlight until tomorrow morning. Or afternoon depending on how this goes. </p><p class="p2">Liam stops before we head on, spinning around on his heels on the gravel to look at Niall. "What are you doing tonight?" </p><p class="p2">"Waiting here," he says with a questioning look. "Why?" </p><p class="p2">"You want to come in with us?"</p><p class="p2">"Oh, I don't know if I--" He looks between Liam and Harry, a small bit of nervousness appearing on his face. </p><p class="p2">"You can if you want, Niall," Harry says, nodding at him. </p><p class="p2">"It's okay," he shakes his head, "I'll need to stay sober to drive, and that won't be fun." </p><p class="p2">"Fuck staying sober," Harry pushes back. "I'll call Lawerence, make sure there's a large bonus in there for him to pick us up later." </p><p class="p2">"What about the car?" </p><p class="p2">"I'll coordinate it all." </p><p class="p2">Everyone stares at him until he folds, throwing his hands up like he guesses he's doing this. "Alright," he announces. "Let's drink then." </p><p class="p2">Liam cheers, the other boys following as we walk into the club. </p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p2">I'm in charge of getting the next round of drinks, the strippers that one of Liam's friends coordinated apparently making their appearance tonight if the sound from the private section is anything to go by. </p><p class="p2">It's weird to be on this side of things. </p><p class="p2">A hand pressed into my low back makes me tense up, turning around fast to see who I'm about to clock for touching me until I see it's Harry who lifts his hand off and looks at me apologetically. </p><p class="p2">"Sorry, baby. Just me." </p><p class="p2">"Scared me," I breathe out, going back to watching the bartender pour each of our drinks. "What are you doing over here?" </p><p class="p2">"In case you haven't noticed, women aren't exactly my type," he says, smirking at me when I look over in his direction. "Plus," he adds, pressing a lingering kiss to my neck and hovering over my ear, "my boyfriend is standing here bent over the bar looking absolutely <em>amazing</em>. How am I supposed to ignore that?" </p><p class="p2">"Bent over the bar, huh?" I chuckle, thanking the bartender when he sets down three of the drinks in front of me. </p><p class="p2">Harry tips his head back, surveying the way I'm positioned against the bar. "Definitely bent over." </p><p class="p2">The bartender sets down another two, and I start to grab them. "Can you keep it in your pants long enough to help me take these back to the boys?" </p><p class="p2">He grins, that stupid and so fucking adorable cocky look flashing across his face. "Debatable." </p><p class="p2">I roll my eyes with a shake of my head and a laugh, coordinating the drinks in my hand while Harry trails behind me doing the same thing. </p><p class="p2">All of them utter their thank you's, engulfed in either the conversation they're having between each other or with the gorgeous women doing various sorts of dances in their laps. </p><p class="p2">"I love strippers," Liam says, his hands barely on the hips of the girl moving on him. "Natalie loves to come with me, too. How lucky is that?" Up to the stripper, he adds, "Natalie is my fiance. We're getting married next weekend." </p><p class="p2">"Aw, congratulations," she smiles, and the other girls who overhear his statement echo the same sentiment. </p><p class="p2">"Hey," Liam's friend Michael says with a nudge into my side. I tip my head to the side to listen to him talk, catching a whiff of the cotton candy perfume bleeding out of her pores. "I didn't leave you two hanging." </p><p class="p2">Right on cue, two guys walk in, both of which have washboard abs, glistening tan skin and the same pair of tight shorts on. One is slightly taller, short jet black hair neatly styled, and the smaller one has obviously dyed blonde hair that's slightly longer and curlier, falling down over ears. </p><p class="p2">"I'll take it you two are the ones not into the ladies?" </p><p class="p2">Harry nods, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he's setting a drink down on the table in front of him. "Lou, are you--" </p><p class="p2">"Are <em>you</em>?" I ask, letting my arms settle against the booth. "The last time someone tried to talk to me in a club, I thought you were going to chop his legs off." </p><p class="p2">"Sounds violent," the blonde one says. </p><p class="p2">"That's just because I wanted you," Harry says, scooting closer to me. "I have you now. Might even be hot to watch this unfold." </p><p class="p2">It would. <em>Fuck</em>, it would. "I was thinking the same thing." </p><p class="p2">"Great minds." </p><p class="p2">"You two are a couple, then?" The black-haired one says, pointing between us to figure out where he should go. I'm fast to claim him, adjusting to accommodate his body. I'm met with the fresh scent of body wash, his hands resting on my shoulders as he turns his head like he just saw someone. "Oh my god, Cherry?" </p><p class="p2">The girl on Niall perks up, moving her head to look at the guy while not missing a single beat. "Skull Candy! Where have you been, darling?" </p><p class="p2">"They put me on parties only." </p><p class="p2">"Lame," she says, Niall slipping a few extra dollars from his suit into the waistband of her bra. </p><p class="p2">"You guys busy enough for you to do party only?" I ask with a cock of my eyebrow, his hips slowly grinding down on mine. </p><p class="p2">"Surprisingly," Skull Candy (apparently) nods, running his hands down my chest. He's good at what he does, his hips matching the beat of Touch It by Ariana Grande. "Who's bachelor party is this?" </p><p class="p2">I point over to Liam in the corner, his head tipped by in a laugh while the girl turns her back to him and continues with the grinding motions. "Mr. Payne's over there." </p><p class="p2">"Cool, cool. Do you mind if take these off?" He gestures to his shorts, my eyes flickering down to where they sit low on his waistline. Simple biology wins every fucking time. "No, no. Go for it." </p><p class="p2">"Someone has a crush," Harry teases next to me, moving a hand to my chin and tilting my face to look at him. "You look really fucking sexy like this, by the way." </p><p class="p2">"Yeah?" </p><p class="p2">"Oh yeah," he almost groans, the blonde guy gyrating in a similar way to Skull Candy who's now on top of me in practically sheer black boxers. That'd be daring if the lights were to come on right now. "You know, you haven't stripped for me since I used to visit you at work." </p><p class="p2">I haven't. He's right. </p><p class="p2">"You used to strip?" The blonde guy asks, looking over at me while he's resting one hand on Harry's chest for leverage. This is making my chest tighten, overstimulation starting to set in between the pure sex happening between the two of us--or four of us, really--the alcohol, and the bass in the songs. </p><p class="p2">"I did, yeah. The most exclusive club in Upper Manhattan." </p><p class="p2">"No shit?" Skull Candy asks. "I tried to get in there. I heard the cash flow is <em>insane</em>." </p><p class="p2">"Oh, it is," I nod, thinking of how much I used to pull in a night there. "Keep trying, though. There's always a high turnaround rate with the male strippers." </p><p class="p2">"I wonder why." </p><p class="p2">"Probably the clientele, Romeo." </p><p class="p2">Romeo. So that's his name. </p><p class="p2">"So you guys met there or...?" Romeo asks. </p><p class="p2">Harry rolls his neck back against the leather booth, looking right at me. "We met there." </p><p class="p2">His hair is within reach of my fingertips, and I take the opportunity to play with a couple of the loose strands. "As you were saying, I haven't stripped for you since then." </p><p class="p2">"Not in this sort of way." </p><p class="p2">"Would you like that? I have plenty of songs I could pull out from old mixes." </p><p class="p2">"Fuck yes," he's fast to breathe out. "That'd drive me crazy." </p><p class="p2">"It's a date then," I say with a nod, and Harry looks back up at Romeo.</p><p class="p2">"Do you guys do joint dances?" </p><p class="p2">"We do." </p><p class="p2">Harry shoves a thumb through the air in my direction, reaching into his pocket to produce a couple of bills and sticking them into his short pocket. "Go rock his world. I want to watch this." </p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p1">We make out the entire way up the elevator, barely stopping when we hit his floor. It’s well past the time for James to be here—and usually way past the time for guests—so we’re left to our own demise of Harry fumbling for keys while my lips are on his jawline and my hands are all over his body.</p><p class="p1">He gets the door open, both of us nearly falling inside and collapsing in a fit of laughter. Harry almost trips backward trying to get his shoes off, using the coat rack for balance while I’m trying to remember how we even got here. We’re so fucking drunk.</p><p class="p1">“Come here, come here,” Harry says, pulling me into the living room. “Let’s dance.”</p><p class="p1">“No dancing,” I nearly slur, wobbling my way to the kitchen. “Water. Lots of water. Is the hotel still open downstairs? I need lots and lots of greasy food, too.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s like one in the morning,” Harry replies, and when I look at him while I’m pouring myself a large glass of water in nothing but the light under the cabinets he’s biting his lip with a grin and obviously trying to hold back a giggle.</p><p class="p1">“What about Postmates or something?”</p><p class="p1">“I could look,” he does giggle, slapping his hand over his mouth to try and stop it.</p><p class="p1">His hair is a wreck from sweat and me running my hands through it on repeat—dancing on him during the party, crawling into his lap in the car on the way home. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, an edge of it slightly untucked from the top of his pants.</p><p class="p1">I’m so in love with him.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know if we can do anything.” I take a long drink of water, chugging it until I’m back to refilling the glass. I don’t want a hangover the size of California tomorrow morning.</p><p class="p1">“We can dance.”</p><p class="p1">“There’s no music.”</p><p class="p1">“I can change that,” is all he says before disappearing, the speakers starting to blare a song before he’s even back in the room. I don’t recognize it, but the beat is good. A subtle rock feel mixed in with a splash of pop.</p><p class="p1">“What is this?” I ask when he’s starting to sway his hips—horribly, by the way—to the beat, a singer entering the track that I vaguely recognize.</p><p class="p1">“Lover of Mine by 5 Seconds of Summer,” he says like it’s ridiculous for me not to know that offhand, gesturing me to come to join him. I surrender, finishing my second glass of water and walking into the room.</p><p class="p1">“Aren’t they a boyband?”</p><p class="p1">“Does it matter, <em>lover</em>?”</p><p class="p1">I practically cackle, trying still to match his movements and appease his need for me to dance right now. “You’re a corny drunk.”</p><p class="p1">“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, starting to sing along to the lyrics. <em>Hope and I pray, darling, that you would stay. </em>“Come up here,” he adds, hopping up on the couch and extending a hand for me.</p><p class="p1">I take it, both of our legs sinking into the couch cushions. I’m unsure about what we’re doing until he launches into full performance mood, jumping in a fashion of drunken bliss.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you.</em>
</p><p class="p1">I don’t know the last time I let myself let go in this innocent kind of way. Sure, I’m drunk, but right now I’m not high, I’m not stressed, my body feels loose as everything besides him and I in this dim living room light dancing ridiculously to a song that’s only partially danceable booming through his house-wide speakers fades away.</p><p class="p1">The lyrics are sinking into my skin the longer I listen, unsure if he shuffled his library and this is a happy coincidence or this was preplanned.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>If my name never fell off your lips again, I know it’d be such a shame.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“I like this,” I shout over the music.</p><p class="p1">He shushes me with one finger. “This—Fuck, Lou, this song is so good. And this part right here coming up it’s you, it’s me and you, and right here, right here, ready?”</p><p class="p1">Harry’s barely making sense, half of the words covered by the sheer volume of the song and the other half tainted with a combination of hard liquor and beer.</p><p class="p1">He points at me as he sings the part he waited for.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>All my regrets and things you can’t forget, light them all up, kiss them goodbye.</em>
</p><p class="p1">He’s so proud of himself when he finishes, outstretching both of his arms towards me. I naturally gravitate towards Harry’s embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck to grind against his waist while he rests his on my waist. My playful smirk mirrors his, our foreheads pressed together.</p><p class="p1">The tension is there, both of us hard and breathing heavily. Not that it would take much given the night we had. I know the drunkenness will prevent anything from happening, but I don’t care about that right now. There’s something so beautifully intoxicating about this kind of electricity burning in between us with nowhere to go.</p><p class="p1">Harry looks at me like there’s nothing else in this room, like he wouldn’t care if we were dancing to this song while it plays on an early 2000s CD-Rom in a cardboard box on some random street corner.</p><p class="p1">I look at him, his freshly shaven skin, the necklace hanging down into his shirt and in the middle of his chest tattoos, his teeth sinking happily down into his bottom lip, and the song repeats which means he probably looked it up before he played it and all I can think about is the summer after my mom had the twins.</p><p class="p1">They were three months old, lying on a blanket in the grass while my mom shielded their eyes from the sun when the clouds broke. Lottie was six and sliding from the slide attached to our swing set into the kiddie pool, calling for our mom to watch her. I was thirteen, coated in bruised knees from trying to learn how to skateboard. Our driveway was uneven before Dad wanted to repave it and totally not conducive for attempting any sort of trick. Kick flips were popular on the playground, of course, so here I was with a board underneath of my feet.</p><p class="p1">My dad was due back from work soon, and he pulled in at the exact time he always did. I watched him take his sunglasses off and slide them into their rightful compartment, and then I watched him get out of the car, briefcase in one hand and a book in the other.</p><p class="p1">Lottie ditched the slide in favor of running towards him, hugging around his waist soaking wet. He pretended he didn’t care about that.</p><p class="p1">Mom asked him about his day at work, leaned upwards to kiss him and smiled down at the twins when he knelt down to say hello to them, too.</p><p class="p1">I waited my turn, trying and failing over and over again to get the trick right. He steadied me before I fell again, an unspoken conversation happening in our facial expressions because we never really knew how to talk to each other, and he handed me the book, an edition of <em>Bleak House </em>by Charles Dickens.</p><p class="p1">“If you want to be a lawyer one day, you should read this,” he told me, tapped me on the shoulder and then turned to head into the house.</p><p class="p1">Harry kisses me, his hands gripping my cheeks with tenderness. When he pulls away, he smiles wide enough to make a dimple pop, running his thumbs over my cheeks.</p><p class="p1">“Have I told you the Alexander McQueen really suits you?”</p><p class="p1">“A couple of times,” I say, my fingers rubbing over the exposed slits on his open shirt. “Have I told you the Armani looks good on you?”</p><p class="p1">“A couple of times,” he repeats my own words, grabbing one of my wrists to bring my knuckles up to his lips.</p><p class="p1">The song is still repeating in the background, but it sounds so far away compared to his voice.</p><p class="p1">“You wore Armani the night I met you.”</p><p class="p1">“I remember,” he says fondly, bringing the hand he holds up to his cheek and rests it there. I brush my fingers through the hair around his ear.</p><p class="p1">“You make me feel like I'm reading Charles Dickens,” I tell him, my thumb dragging softly over his bottom lip.</p><p class="p1">“Is that a good thing? I feel like that’s a good thing maybe, but I’m really, <em>really</em> drunk.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s a good thing. I'll explain later,” I laugh with a nod, kissing him again with the energy of that youthful summer sunset as I turned the pages in that book as a kid without any idea it would set off an urgent passion inside.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Take all of me.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>angst, a wedding, italian spice for anyone who actually wanted the italy scenes</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here's to another 5k work chapter, 4600 hits, and a one direction reference let's gooooo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I don’t know what I expected.</p><p class="p1">The back door swings open and reveals a shitty parking lot behind the tailoring place. It reminds me of the club a bit with the cracks in the pavement and the loose gravel and the dumpster and another guy smoking a cigarette with an apron on probably from the bakery next door who looks a lot calmer than me.</p><p class="p1">Not that that’s hard.</p><p class="p1">“Do you mind?” I ask, gesturing to the pack he’s about to slip into his pocket.</p><p class="p1">He shakes his head, opening it up and offering me one. “It’s Friday,” he says like that’s a good explanation for giving a cigarette to a stranger. “You need a lighter, too?”</p><p class="p1">I light it using his, thanking him and settling back up against the wall. My hand is shaking each time I bring this up to my lips, the cigarette obviously unsteady while I’m taking a drag.</p><p class="p1">My mom always hated the smell of the cigarettes, hated that I smoked them, hated that I was wasting away the good set of lungs she gave me.</p><p class="p1">Someone else opens the back door to the other building, asking that guy to come back inside because the crowd picked up. He tosses his cigarette down and then leaves. I toss mine down now with no guilt, stomping out the part on fire with the bottom of an old pair of Converse.</p><p class="p1">Thank god I didn’t wear a pair of nicer shoes.</p><p class="p1">I look at the way the tobacco is ground up into the concrete, black mashed with a darker black. Maybe if she can look down at me now with some sort of all-knowing ability she’d be proud. Then again, that would mean she watched me snort cocaine, too. And in such a way that would definitely tell her it wasn’t just something I’d recently picked up.</p><p class="p1">Sorry, Mom. I guess I’m sort of a giant sinner.</p><p class="p1">I texted Harry before my hands hit the steel of the back door after the mechanisms didn’t work. I didn’t expect him to do anything about my message despite my dramatic urgency. He has meetings well into the rest of the night, and there’s no reason for him to be here.</p><p class="p1">Five things to see, four things to touch, three things to hear, two things to smell, one to taste.</p><p class="p1">I made it through the four things and had to throw in the towel before I threw up on the back of the guy waiting patiently in front of me. Liam could tell I looked bad too, giving me a concerned look from near the front of the line and mouthing if I was okay. I could’ve said yes but it would’ve been clear I was lying.</p><p class="p1">My mom loved weddings. They were the happiest times, she said. She couldn’t wait for our weddings. She talked about them all the damn time.</p><p class="p1">A bride and bridesmaids would be inside of our living room, twirling around in the last minute adjustments before the big day, and she’d exclaim about their beauty and then talk about how she’d hope to see the day one of us would be in their spot.</p><p class="p1">She would always talk about how she’d get to walk me down the aisle, but that was before she was sick.</p><p class="p1">That was before.</p><p class="p1">Groomsmen are a lot different than bridesmaids, really, but it was all the same in there. All the same.</p><p class="p1">Another door swings open. I figure it's just the bakery next door again. They must be pretty fucking busy for causing such a ruckus over there. </p><p class="p1">"Liam said you were back here." </p><p class="p1">I turn to face the voice. "What are you doing here?" </p><p class="p1">"I got your text," he says with a shrug, hair sticking to his forehead and a sheen of sweat over his face and his neck. "You said you needed me." </p><p class="p1">"I do need you," I say with disbelief that he's actually standing here. I didn't expect this. I wasn't breathing correctly before, but now that he's here it's like I suddenly have the safety to let all of the emotions pour out, and just as fast as I was standing straight up I'm crouching down on the ground while the air struggles to move in and out of my lungs. </p><p class="p1">Harry's quick to be crouching down next to me, one hand in my hair and the other one wrapped around my back, rubbing in soothing circles. "Hey, slow down, Lou. You're hyperventilating. It's just a panic attack. You're okay. I'm here. You're okay." I shake my head, trying to slow it down, but it's far out of my control. "Look at me, baby." I don't move, eyes glued to a small hole filled with gravel and cigarette buds in front of me. He repeats himself. "Look at me." I look at him, and he smiles a small, happy smile for the tiny notion. "That's it, Louis. So proud of you. Breathe with me, okay? Just like this." He uses a hand to indicate that he's taking a deep breath in and then blowing the air out of his mouth. </p><p class="p1">I follow suit, one breath after another for what feels like an eternity until my heart stops pounding so hard, my lungs filling back up with actual air. I swallow, taking a few other deep breaths along with his hand motions. Harry's hand on my back comes up to my face, cupping my face gently. </p><p class="p1">"I'm sorry," I say.</p><p class="p1">He shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize." His thumb brushes over my cheek. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" </p><p class="p1">I rest my hand over his, fingers wrapping around his fingers. "Nothing really happened. I was just waiting for my turn, and I just felt this wave of dread wash over me the closer I got to standing on the block, and I couldn't control it. I was trying all of the things Dr. Brooke's taught me but nothing was working. I didn't know what to do or what it was and then the tailor was asking Liam if he was nervous and it hit me." I look over at him, and he's looking at me so patiently. "She's never going to be there for my wedding, Harry." </p><p class="p1">"I know," he says empathetically. "I know." </p><p class="p1">I know he does. </p><p class="p1">"How did this happen? I mean, there are just days I still want to call her just like I could before she was in the hospital, and I'm never going to get that again. She'd love to know about this wedding. God, it would make her so fucking happy, and to know that I'm the best man? That I actually have someone to dance with during all of the stupid love songs?" I sigh. "I just miss her." I lean into the kiss he gives the side of my head, breathing me in. "The first thing I did when I hit the back of the building was looking for something to take. Isn't that stupid?" </p><p class="p1">"It's not stupid," he replies. "You're healing. It's natural." </p><p class="p1">I laugh slightly. "You sound like Dr. Brooke and the woman at the group meeting." </p><p class="p1">"They're smart people," he says with a grin, and I turn away out of partial embarrassment. He picks up on it, of course, hooking his fingers under my chin to turn my face back towards him. "I'm proud of you." </p><p class="p1">"I'm not giving you any reason to be proud." </p><p class="p1">"You're giving me every reason to be proud," he fights back, nudging my jaw. Tears start to form, pooling in my lower lids for a reason I'm unsure of. What Harry just said? An after-effect of that panic attack? Harry notices, wiping one of them away. "I love you." </p><p class="p1">"I love you," I say back, wiping at the other cheek with the back of my hand. Only then do I realize how clammy his palm is and his appearance runs back through my mind. "Why are you so sweaty?" </p><p class="p1">"It's hot out here." </p><p class="p1">"Yeah, but..." I narrow my eyes, thinking of all of the possible reasons before having one stark realization. "Oh my god, you ran here." </p><p class="p1">"Niall was stuck in crazy traffic--" </p><p class="p1">"Harry Styles just ran here." </p><p class="p1">"Because of a text from <em>you</em>." </p><p class="p1">"Harry Styles just ran here because of a text from <em>me.</em>"</p><p class="p1">"You needed me," he shrugs like that's the end of that discussion like it's inconsequential.</p><p class="p1">"You didn't leave a meeting did you?" He shrugs again, a guilty look written all over his face. "<em>Harry</em>." </p><p class="p1">"<em>Louis</em>," he says in a similar tone. "They'll wait. This takes precedence." </p><p class="p1">"You won't be able to do that when you're running your own joint." </p><p class="p1">He laughs, pressing another kiss to my hair and lingering over my ear before he stands up. "That's exactly what I'll be able to do when I'm running my own joint." </p><p class="p1">I laugh back, looking up at him as he towers over me a little bit now with an outstretched hand meant for me to take.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The reception is just as beautiful as the actual wedding. </p><p class="p1">Natalie settled on an outdoor venue in The Hamptons, a quaint white tent in the middle of a clean-cut grass field with small cocktail tables strewn about decorated with bouquets of pink and white flowers on top. Around the field are various dark wood posts holding up the strings of fairy lights giving the area a warm glow. The guestbook is outside as well, the guests signing, walking around the outdoor portion and then making their way inside. </p><p class="p1">The inside is even more gorgeous--white paper lanterns cover the top of the tent, the same sort of fairy lights along the sides and accentuated with large candles on every table. Each tablescape is a collection of rose gold and actual gold, matching bouquets to the outside in the middle. In the middle, a light wooden dance floor rests on top of the otherwise grassy finish underneath. She'd never let on, but Natalie's not wearing shoes underneath her long pink reception gown. Not that I'd blame her. Imagine getting the heel caught in the grass. </p><p class="p1">I'm sitting next to Liam who can't stop beaming over at Natalie. My slight eavesdropping on their conversation reveals nothing but intense happiness, disbelief, here and there casual complaints about how hot it's getting in here, if so and so will actually show up. It's them. </p><p class="p1">Considering Harry didn't make the bridal party, he's sitting at a table directly in front of the main table with the rest of our friends--Zayn with Gretchen, Kendall with Gigi. Everyone looks amazing. Harry looks amazing. </p><p class="p1">He raises his glass of champagne to me with a wink, and I do the same back. I wish he was sitting next to me and not Michael who's definitely starting to smell like he's drank enough for it only being the beginning of the ceremony, but it is a wedding reception after all. The entire point is just to celebrate, let loose, take advantage of the already-paid-for bar. </p><p class="p1">The DJ cuts the classical music once everyone seems to have arrived and taken their seats, announcing the entirety of the bridal party. It's only slightly embarrassing, but the way the crowd cheers and claps for Liam and Natalie's show of standing up and taking a bow makes up for it. I know the part that comes next, though, and my hand reaches into my suit jacket to pull out the piece of paper I prepared for this moment. </p><p class="p1">He announces the best man speech. I stand up. The first people I see are off to my side, Liam's parents smiling warmly at me. I've only met them a few times over the course of my knowing Liam but they're some of the nicest people I've ever met. They did a good job with their son. </p><p class="p1">"You would think that as I'm studying to be a lawyer, I would be better at giving speeches," I say into the microphone they hand me, and that earns a chuckle from the crowd. "I mean, Liam and I have taken an insane amount of classes just dedicated to public speaking throughout our undergrad at Columbia, but none of them have prepared me for this sort of moment unless Liam plans on holding this against me in court one day and I have to defend myself." Another laugh. I'm doing well. "I've known Liam for about four years now--he didn't tell me anything was off-limits, by the way, so what's about to come out of my mouth is his own fault. I met him at a party--"</p><p class="p1">"Oh god," Liam says suddenly behind me, already laughing into his lap with a hand running through his hair. The crowd laughs at his reaction, Natalie obviously knowing what I'm going to say because she was there too. </p><p class="p1">"I met Liam at a party when he was double-fisting two Natty Lights and diving naked into a frat house pool." A small gasp from the crowd. I raise a hand. "I know, I know. That probably throws your perception of this handsome, well put together man sitting here before you. <em>This</em> man had discarded all of his clothes and practically threw them around the yard. He was singing some awful version of Movin' Out by Billy Joel, and Natalie was trying to climb up onto the deck to stop him but was too late. She, of course, reached for him and he pulled her right in. I think I was the only one laughing, which is a shame because it was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. Maybe that's because I was also <em>extremely </em>drunk--" and on one hell of an acid trip, but I leave that out--"but I remember thinking they were two people I really wanted to get to know." Liam shakes his head, both of them blushing at the memory. I turn to address them directly. "Who knew that these two crazy people at this random party I walked into would end up being two of the most important to people to me? I didn't. I don't even think we talked that night, actually. I probably got distracted by more alcohol elsewhere, but Liam walked into class that next day. The same one I was in. He sat down next to me without the slightest indication he had a hangover." I press a hand to my heart when I say, "My hero," and then take a sip of my drink. "We talked, and I told him all about how I knew he was the absolutely wild guy diving into that pool naked, and I told him I would never let him live that down. Here I am, Li, absolutely not letting you live this down." </p><p class="p1">"I have plenty of stories to get back at you for this," he says with a point of his finger. </p><p class="p1">I brush him off. "Sure you do." Then I settle into having a more serious face. "We've been through a lot together in the past four years, and I can say with honesty that I am so proud of the man you've become. You're still the type to dive naked into pools, but you're also the most loyal, most respectful, most loving man who I'm honored to call one of my best friends. I remember sitting in the library with you all of those nights just talking about this moment. You were so nervous you wouldn't be the husband that Nat deserved, but if I say so myself, you're going to be one of a hell of a husband because you're one hell of a man." Natalie kisses him on the cheek, him nodding his head in a silent thanks. "I wish nothing but the kind of happiness you both had giggling like fools in your own world at that fraternity all those years ago for the rest of your lives. You two deserve every bit of happiness and love coming your way." I raise my glass then. "To the continuation of a beautiful love story." </p><p class="p1">The rest of the crowd follows, and we all take a drink before I pass the mic down to the maid of honor. </p><p class="p1">She gives one hell of a speech that's just as embarrassing about Natalie's younger years, the entire crowd carrying over the same energy. After, they share their first dance to Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron &amp; Wine, the lights dimming down to just the candlelight. I watch them sway together with ease, both of them laughing at the quiet conversation occuring between the two of them. He spins her around, pulls her close, presses their cheeks together. They're so in love. </p><p class="p1">I look across the dance floor at Harry who looks over at me at almost the same exact moment. He smiles at me, making a heart motion with his hands and pointing towards Liam and Natalie. I nod with a similar smile, perking up when their song starts to come to a close and the DJ announces another slow dance. The bridal party is allowed to leave the table and join Natalie and Liam first, some of them pairing up within the party, and a few grabbing the hands of their significant others around the reception hall. </p><p class="p1">I adjust my tie, walking up to Harry who looks like I somehow wasn't going to ask him. </p><p class="p1">If I Could Fly by One Direction plays in the background of this moment, me offering a hand out to him. </p><p class="p1">"Dance with me, Harry Styles?" </p><p class="p1">"Would be an honor, Louis Tomlinson," he replies, grabbing my hand and letting me bring him the few steps it is from his table onto the dance floor. </p><p class="p1"><em>Right now, I'm completely defenseless</em>. </p><p class="p1">We press our foreheads together, our hands resting on the other's back while we join hands on the side. </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Now you know me. </em>
</p><p class="p1">"Did I bomb that speech?" I ask quietly, nudging my nose against his. </p><p class="p1">"Absolutely not," he says, breath smelling like a sweet mint combined with champagne. "It was the best speech I've ever heard."</p><p class="p1">"Now you're just flattering me. Trying to get into my pants?" </p><p class="p1">"Is it working?" </p><p class="p1">I shrug. "Maybe." </p><p class="p1">"The best speech," he repeats again for the point of it, one dimple poking through. </p><p class="p1"><em>And pain gets hard, but now you're here and I don't feel a thing</em>. </p><p class="p1">"This is a gorgeous reception." </p><p class="p1">"It is," he says and then after a beat, "You look absolutely breathtaking." </p><p class="p1">It's a simple compliment, but it still makes me nervous, my cheeks heating up like he hasn't told me a hundred times. "As do you." </p><p class="p1">"I was a bit jealous of Allison getting to walk you in like that. I wanted to be the arm you held." </p><p class="p1">"Maybe when Kendall and Gigi get married." </p><p class="p1">"When do you think they're going to pop the question?" </p><p class="p1">"I have no idea," I shake my head. Over his shoulder, I can see the two of them dancing in a similar position we're in, Kendall throwing her head back in a laugh I can't hear over the music but can imagine the sound of. "They look so happy just like this."</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I can feel your heart inside of mine.</em>
</p><p class="p1">"Are they behind us?" I nod, turning us around in a slow circle until he's the one who can see them. "They fit so well together." </p><p class="p1">"Don't they?" </p><p class="p1">He brushes his nose against mine again, hand falling lower on my back. "We fit well together." </p><p class="p1">"Yeah, we do," I breathe out in agreement. "I love you." </p><p class="p1">"I love you too, Lou." </p><p class="p1">"I always pictured this moment, you know. The wedding, too, but mainly this. Having someone to share a moment with. So happy it's you." </p><p class="p1">"Me too, baby." </p><p class="p1">He leans down slightly to kiss me, our feet stopping in our tracks on the dance floor. The song starts to come to a close, the bustle of people preparing for more upbeat songs settling around us, but this. His lips, my lips, his hands on my back, the way he smells, the way he tastes, the tickle of his stubble against my face because his razor gave out last minute and he had to make do. I think I could have this for the rest of my life with no complaints. </p><p class="p1">Yeah, that sounds pretty good. Really fucking good. </p><p class="p1"><em>For your eyes only.</em> </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">He looks at me with hungry eyes, wetting his lips while he lays on his stomach on a towel in the sand. The sun is starting to set behind him, and I'm carrying two beers down from our villa right on the beach. We have a private one, of course. </p><p class="p1">"God damn," he says, not taking his eyes off of me while he reaches for his beer. </p><p class="p1">"You like them?" I say with a teasing smirk. I don't see how he couldn't. I bought this without him knowing, changing into them while I went inside to get us drinks. They're skin-tight black swim trunks coming down just a little bit onto my thighs. They leave nothing to the imagination, an obvious bulge already formed just from the feeling of the material. </p><p class="p1">"Like them? Fuck, baby." He rolls onto his back, grabbing at my hips and pulling me into his lap. I settle there easily, wrapping my hands around his neck. I grind down innocently while I'm adjusting, definitely not missing the way he almost chokes on his sip of beer. He sets down the bottle deep in the sand, letting a hand snake in between us to move down lower on my stomach until it's resting right at the top of the shorts. "You look so fucking sexy."</p><p class="p1">"Yeah?" I hum, kissing him deep and slow, tongue slipping into mouth almost instantly. In between kisses I say, "What do they make you want to do to me?" </p><p class="p1">"What don't I want to do you?" He says into my mouth with a shake of his head. "This, for starters." His hand slips into the fabric, palming at my already half-hard cock. I suck in a breath, my body going lax under his touch. "Could eat you out for hours," he adds like he's thinking out loud. "Could bend you over, have my way with you." </p><p class="p1">"You could." </p><p class="p1">"Could make you come over and over again until you're so well satisfied you don't even remember your own name." </p><p class="p1">"I like the sound of that." </p><p class="p1">"Me too," he sighs, pulling me down as he falls backward onto the towel. </p><p class="p1">I bracket him in with my hands, sand getting in between my fingertips. This is going to be so messy I'll need eight showers just to get the beach off of me, but I really, really don't fucking care right now. </p><p class="p1">I move my hips down against him, rolling in lazy circles while he's meeting my thrusts, one hand still working over my cock in my swim trunks and the other gripping my ass. I pull away from his lips to kiss down his jaw, sucking on the dip between his neck and his shoulder. He moves his head to the side to give me better access, both hands now on my ass to grind me down against him. My lips move from his shoulder down his chest, kissing their way to his left nipple and taking it into my mouth. My tongue swirls in a soft circle around it, waiting for it to harden before flicking the tip of my tongue against it, taking it between my teeth in a gentle tug. The other nipple gets the attention from my fingers, rolling it between my index finger and my thumb while he's breathing out expletives above me. </p><p class="p1">He's obviously enjoying himself, his cock growing harder against my own. His shorts might not be as tight as mine, but they also don't leave much to the imagination. I helped to pick them out. </p><p class="p1">I work my way down his torso, sliding my thighs down until I'm eye level with the bulge in his swim trunks, the ocean waves behind me adding to the way he's almost whining for it. </p><p class="p1">"Am I turning you on that much?" I ask even though I know the answer, fiddling with his trunks until they're pulled down his thighs and I'm arching my back for show with his cock in my hand. </p><p class="p1">"You just know how to get to me," he barely says while I'm taking him into my mouth. </p><p class="p1">I love it when he grips my hair, so he does exactly that, the strands curling up in his fingertips while he's gripping the back of it. I also love it when he falls apart for me, hips squirming while he tries not to thrust up into the heat of my mouth right away but ultimately fails. It's so different than what it used to be when I couldn't touch him, couldn't take care of him the way he just wanted to do for me.</p><p class="p1">Sure, I would please him. I would do what he asked. His cock would be between my lips or in the fist of my hand more times than I could count but that wasn't him in the way I have him now. The him that I can do that to without asking, the him that wants to surrender his body over to me without much thought. </p><p class="p1">"I fucking love going down on you," I say when I pull off of him, spit stringing between my lips and the tip of his cock as a show of the perfect amount of effort. I jerk him off to give my jaw a break, the slide exactly what I needed it to be. His hips buck up into my fist, chasing more of it. He's so fucking needy right now. "So desperate for it, baby." </p><p class="p1">"How could I not be when you look like that?" He says back, brushing my hair out of my face. I gave up on using product the moment we hit the humidity. "Come up here." </p><p class="p1">I slide away from him, inching my way back up until my thighs are back to bracketing his hips. His fingertips digging into my hips as he tries to turn me over until I get the hint, laughing confusedly as I don't know what his intentions are. I start to bend over thinking he just wants the view while I go back down on him this way until he hooks his hands under my thighs, bringing me back towards him. </p><p class="p1">"What are you--" </p><p class="p1">"Let me rim you for a while." His hands pull at my shorts until they're almost to my knees, and I move to scoot them off of my legs. </p><p class="p1">"You want me to sit on your face?" </p><p class="p1">"That's exactly what I want you to do. Would you want--" </p><p class="p1">I cut him off by adjusting down against him, his laugh at my desperation this time vibrating against my hole. I look off into the ocean while he's starting to slowly lick over me, my hair blowing in the breeze and my toes curling in their own right off to the side. I smile to myself, tipping my head back when he dips his tongue inside and I start to roll my hip back on him. No one's ever done this to me before, and it feels so fucking <em>good</em> I almost don't understand it. </p><p class="p1">"Fuck, Harry," I groan deep from my chest, my hand idly pulling on my cock a few times before realizing I'm at the perfect angle to still jerk him off while he's doing this. </p><p class="p1">He moans back up against me, and it sends a hot wave of heat through my entire body. I can feel I'm already leaking up against my stomach, his fingers digging into the fleshy part of my hips while he's holding me apart. How is this happening to me on a beach in fucking Italy? </p><p class="p1">"Taste so good, Lou," he says as he takes a breath and then goes right back to. One of his hands leaves my hips to start jerking me off, and I admit that my hand goes still around him, overtaken by the amount of pleasure coming from both sides like this. I don't know whether to push back against his tongue or up into his fist, my lips permanently parting in one long string of moans and sighs. </p><p class="p1">"You're gonna make me come like this," I announce when he changes the angle just a little bit to a spot that somehow feels better than the other ones. He has to be close to my prostate somehow. God, his fingers would be so fucking good right now. </p><p class="p1">"Just one of many tonight," he says as he sucks on one of my ass cheeks, massaging the other in his hand, "so you better prepare for it." </p><p class="p1">I whine when his tongue is back on me, teasing flicks on the outside and then dipping on the side. He holds out the hand that's jerking me off and lifts it up a little higher until I get the cue to spit down on it. The moment he wraps it back around me, I know I'm a goner, the pressure in my stomach growing and growing the more he strokes. </p><p class="p1">"Harry," I try to warn him, trying again to concentrate on both my pleasure and keeping a steady rhythm of his cock in my fist. He pulls his mouth back, scooting me forward a little to slip a finger inside and there it is. "Fucking hell, Harry," I moan out, spilling out over his hand. He keeps milking me through it, a finger working on my prostate until my legs are practically shaking. My body wants to simultaneously push away from the overstimulation and keep chasing it. </p><p class="p1">He comes soon after, his orgasm making his hips thrust up into my fist. I tease over the tip of his cock as he comes, collecting most of it in between my fingers for me to lick clean. That's one of my favorite things to do. Drives him absolutely crazy. </p><p class="p1">I turn around after we have a minute to come down, my tongue sticking out to accentuate sucking on my fingers. He barely lets me finish, wrapping his hands around my waist and practically tossing me over his shoulders. He steps out of his shorts all of the way, and I watch them and the rest of our things sit on the beach as he carries me backward into the house, my legs kicking playfully as I try to get down. </p><p class="p1">We don't make it very far, him plopping me down on the counter right when we walk in. I wrap my legs around his waist, always kissing, parting my legs for him, we really don't stop kissing. He fits so naturally between them like he was meant to be right fucking here. </p><p class="p1">"Round two," he says against my lips, both of us smiling too widely into it while he starts to push inside of me. I've barely had the proper prep and the door is still open, the breeze picking up as the sun sets even lower and we lose the natural light into the room. </p><p class="p1">Happy fucking days. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is just smut, fluff, smut &lt;3 enjoy my friends</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>5K HITS!! THAT'S ABSOLUTELY INSANE </p><p>i adore all of you thank you so much for joining me on this journey that's coming to a close</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So I was thinking," I start, walking back from the bathroom and stretching my arms above my head. </p><p>Harry's propped on his side, every inch of his skin exposed including the bits I've basically kissed raw. </p><p>The addictive bits. </p><p>He shoves a piece of strawberry into his mouth, aimlessly chewing while he's watching me walk over to the bed. The natural light pouring into the room through the open window and balcony door framing him perfectly. I love him so fucking much.</p><p>"I'm listening," he says happily. </p><p>"I was thinking that I drop out of law school," I crawl into bed with him, pushing him over onto his back and straddling his stomach, "and you quit your job and we'll cut off the rest of the world and just move here." </p><p>"Oh yeah?" He grins, resting both of his hands on my thighs and rubbing them up and down. </p><p>I pluck a piece of strawberry out of the bowl now next to me, offering it to his opening mouth. "I think it only seems like the right thing to do. Permanent sunshine, permanent beach. We'd have all of the wine and amazing food in the world." My hands slide up his chest. "You'd have me in the shortest shorts whenever you wanted, and I'd get you shirtless all the time. A total dream." </p><p>"That's to suggest we'd even have any clothes on," he points out with a wiggle of his eyebrows, mouth opening again for another piece of strawberry. He talks after he's done chewing. "I can barely keep my hands off of you now. Imagine what it would be like if we were constantly naked." </p><p>"Hot and steamy," I reply with a laugh, wiping some juice off of the corner of his lip with my thumb and then sucking it off before rolling off of him and onto my stomach. "I really don't want to leave." </p><p>He agrees, turning his head to look at me and a hand coming up to run over the skin of my back. "We'd get bored, though." </p><p>"You think?" I look towards the beach just past our balcony. How could anyone get bored of this? This is so different from our life in New York. It's quiet, and it's hopeful, and it's stress-free. Everything we've had to eat over the past few days tastes like it just came from the source--the wine is pure, the food is organic, the water looks clean, the air <em>is </em>clean. </p><p>"I do. It would be great at first with the no responsibilities and the food and all of the sex but then we'd settle just like we would anywhere else and we'd miss it back home. You need to practice law, and I need to work. We're both so close to what we want, too." </p><p>I guess he's right. It would be nice for a few months when we're still high off of the decision and we're too well satisfied to care about anything else but then the luxury of tourism would wear off and we'd become part of the community and we'd be in the exact same place we are back home in New York. </p><p>The grass is always greener on the other side, right? </p><p>"Test scores are probably coming out back home." </p><p>"You passed," he says the same way he's said it in the past ten times I brought it up. "It's just a practice exam, baby. You have two more years to fine-tune your skills before you take the actual one." </p><p>"It's just that Liam scored a--" </p><p>"360. I know." </p><p>"No pressure," I laugh nervously, face settling into a straight line. It feels like everything rests on a three-digit test score. </p><p>"There really isn't. We'll go right back to the drawing board to help you for the real one if you didn't or we'll celebrate and then go right back to the drawing board to help you for the real one." </p><p><em>We'll</em>. </p><p>"Nothing but more studying." </p><p>"Exactly. Don't worry about it right now and just enjoy the rest of the vacation." </p><p>I look from the water in the short distance over to him. His arm is still moving his hand over my skin, and a warm smile appears on his face. I smile back, sitting in that moment for a second before I'm back to straddling him. </p><p>"I want strawberries." </p><p>"Then have strawberries." </p><p class="p1">He doesn’t know what I have planned when I pick the bowl up and start placing pieces of fruit from the base of his neck and in a straight line down to underneath where I’m sitting. Harry watches me as I do with patience and intrigue, the white of the sheets clashing so nicely with how we both look right now.</p><p class="p1">“You ever have someone eat strawberries off of you?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">“I can’t say I have.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">“That’s a shame.” I scoot forward after I place the last piece, my tongue coming out to lick over the bottom of his throat and take a piece into my mouth. He sighs, body going lax and molding into the sheets. “Maybe that’s because you taste sweet enough already.”</p><p class="p1">He laughs with his head thrown back, the noise filling the entire room. It makes my chest just that much bigger, my heart rate speeding up just that much faster as I watch his smile. His gorgeous, captivating smile taking over his face at my doing, too.</p><p class="p1">“<em>Or </em>I didn’t really care to bring fruit into the bedroom.”</p><p class="p1">“Fair enough.”</p><p class="p1">“Until you, of course.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course.”</p><p class="p1">“You open me up to all sorts of different things.”</p><p class="p1">I blink at him as I’m about to take the piece resting between his nipples into my mouth. I know he says it not meaning just the kinds of things we get up to when we’re in bed like this.</p><p class="p1">Harry starts to grip at the sheets when I kiss over his ribcage and down his stomach, the sensitive skin fluttering under my lips. I put two hands on his hips and almost wish that he would start to move so I could hold him down the way I like it, but he stays perfectly still.</p><p class="p1">I know his eyes are on me when I hook my hands around the backs of his thighs, and I meet his glance while I attach my lips to the soft skin of his inner thigh. I’ve been meaning to mark here, so I do right next to the crease, my eyes fluttering shut in concentration and because this gives me that much bliss.</p><p class="p1">When I’m done, the faint red mark remains against his skin, and I press my thumb into it just to get a reaction. He groans, finally shifting around against the sheets. I smirk to myself in satisfaction, wrapping my head around the base of his cock. I give him a few seconds of anticipation and dry movement before my lips separate and I take him into my mouth.</p><p class="p1">“Shit, baby,” he breathes out, and he’s making me so fucking hard with his sounds and the way that he tastes and how it’s mixing with the strawberry coating my mouth. “You’re so—“ He trails off, doesn’t finish it. So what? I’ll never know but that’s okay.</p><p class="p1">His cock nudges against the back of my throat, and I make a conscious effort to swallow harder. This time I keep his hips down out of fear I’ll gag too hard, but I still don’t need to worry about it. He’s exhibiting an impressive amount of self-control.</p><p class="p1">I pull off to breathe, a loud gasp coming out of my mouth while I kiss back over his stomach to his chest to the dips of his collarbones.</p><p class="p1">“Can I ride you?”</p><p class="p1">“I think I would let you do whatever you wanted.”</p><p class="p1">I reach for a pillow he can prop underneath of his head as I settle into his lap. There’s no need for prep considering I’m probably still decently stretched from just a little bit ago. I’m still slow to lower myself down on him, though. Don’t want to do too much too fast.</p><p class="p1">The pillow becomes irrelevant when he shifts so he’s sitting up, a whole strawberry minus the stem in his hand as one hand wraps around my lower back when I start to move.</p><p class="p1">I open my mouth, sticking out my tongue in an exaggerated form of seduction. Harry places half of the strawberry into my mouth, holding it there until he comes forward to bite at the part still exposed. It’s messy and uncoordinated and it makes me moan as I let the juice roll off of my chin as I chew.</p><p class="p1">“Jesus, Harry,” I breathe out. He’s so fucking hot.</p><p class="p1">“Would love to film this one day,” he says back, leaning backward to make a rectangle with his hands. “You deserve to watch yourself like this from my point of view. Riding my cock so well, the way you’re leaking up against your stomach.”</p><p class="p1">Harry runs a finger up my cock, collecting the pre-come around the slit and what’s resting on my stomach. He brings the finger up to my mouth, and I proudly take it between my lips. My hand wraps around his wrist when he starts to pull it out, moving his hand back behind my ass where he’s disappearing inside of me.</p><p class="p1">“You feel that?” I ask, pressing his finger against my hole until gets the point to add the pressure there. It feels like the beginning. He nods. “You spoil me.”</p><p class="p1">“All part of my master plan that you never leave.”</p><p class="p1">“I think it’s working.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” I sigh, bringing a hand to the back of his head as I crash our lips together.</p><p class="p1">It’ll take a lot of convincing to get me back home.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">Harry moans, his fork lifting the pasta from the bowl up to this mouth.</p><p class="p1">“You haven’t even taken a bite yet,” I laugh as he has an affair with his food hanging in midair. “Should probably try it before you let the entire place know what you sound like in bed.”</p><p class="p1">“No one’s paying attention,” he defends himself, and he’s probably right. Surprise, surprise.</p><p class="p1">We picked a restaurant far from lavish—surprising considering Harry’s affinity for all things over the top—with normal people eating at normal tables in normal clothes. The hum of laughter and discussion over wine and pasta is calming, and I revel in that sound mixed in with the clear night, the lightbulbs hanging off of a wire lighting up the patio.</p><p class="p1">Our waiter comes by to ask us if we’re enjoying our meal. At least I assume so by the way he’s gesturing to our plates as he speaks in actual Italian.</p><p class="p1">Harry, of course, handles this with ease.</p><p class="p1">“Che piatto fantástico!” He makes a chef's kiss signal with his hands, and I hide my smile in the palm of my hand as I watch this unfold. “Come lo prepari?” The waiter laughs, wiggling a finger like he’s disciplining him. He squeezes Harry’s shoulder as he walks towards another table, Harry calling over to him, “Complimenti al cuoco!”</p><p class="p1">I stare at him when he’s done, watching as he rests a napkin on his lap and keeps eating.</p><p class="p1">“What was that all about?”</p><p class="p1">“I gave compliments to the chef,” he shrugs. “Seriously, baby, you should try this. It’s so good. I asked him for the recipe to give to Phillip, but you saw his reaction to that.”</p><p class="p1">“A good chef doesn’t reveal his secrets,” I say as I raise one eyebrow and lean across the table to take a bite. The moment it hits my tongue, the flavor explodes. The combination of tomato and fresh garlic mixing beautifully. Before I’m even done chewing, I add, “Holy shit.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” he nods frantically. “I’m tempted to pay them off. Do you think they would accept that? I genuinely would want to eat this for the rest of my life.”</p><p class="p1">My phone goes off in the middle of his dissertation about the pasta, and I wipe at my mouth while I glance down at the screen.</p><p class="p1">My heart drops.</p><p class="p1">Harry’s voice fades into the background, the rest of it becoming a blur. I feel like I’m in slow motion as I reach for my phone, unlocking it with unsteady, adrenaline-fueled hands.</p><p class="p1">“Babe,” I say slowly, clicking on my emails and then the one resting right at the top.</p><p class="p1">“What is it?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s my test score.”</p><p class="p1">“Test scores? It’s at least nine right now.”</p><p class="p1">“Time change,” I remind him. “It should be three or four back home.” I look up at him over my phone screen. “Should I open it?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know.”</p><p class="p1">I don’t either. If it’s good news, this will call for a celebration. If it’s bad news, I’ll tell myself I won’t let it ruin the last few days of vacation but it definitely will.</p><p class="p1">I look back down at the email, one blue link away from logging in and seeing a number. “You think I passed?”</p><p class="p1">“I think you passed.”</p><p class="p1">He looks nervous when I look at him again, uncertainty flickering behind his eyes.</p><p class="p1">I laugh nervously now too. “Why do you look like that?”</p><p class="p1">“You’re going to bottom out if you open it and something’s wrong.”</p><p class="p1">“I know,” I sigh, resting my phone on the table like I’m not going to look at it but still staring at the screen. “But now I know it’s here!” I groan dramatically. “God, it’s going to drive me crazy for the rest of vacation knowing that it’s there.”</p><p class="p1">“Open it then.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you sure?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m here for the celebration or the fallout,” he says with a smile that tells me he means that. Of course, he means that.</p><p class="p1">I reach a hand out across the table after I enter my login information to the site. Harry rests his palm in mine, squeezing as the screen loads. Once it does, I squint to read the words, scrolling down just slightly for the overall score.</p><p class="p1">Holy shit.</p><p class="p1">Holy fucking shit.</p><p class="p1">My heart rate picks up, pounding out of my chest as I stare at the number.</p><p class="p1">“I—“</p><p class="p1">“What? What’d you get?” Harry asks impatiently, but I don’t know how to respond, all of the words leaving my brain. I opt to slide him the phone across the table, watching as he brings it up to eye level and then he looks back at me. “Louis.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah.”</p><p class="p1">“A 365?”</p><p class="p1">“A 365.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s higher than Liam.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s higher than Liam,” I agree, the force of happiness fighting through the calm demeanor I’m trying to keep on this patio.</p><p class="p1">We both look at each other from across the table, exchanging knowing smiles, a moment just meant for the two of us.</p><p class="p1">“You scored a 365, baby,” he says quietly, squeezing my hand when the waiter reappears. Again, he asks something in Italian, and again, Harry handles it. Harry places a hand on his wine glass, nodding as he says, “Vogliamo bere una bottiglia di vino rosso buonissimo,” with a proud smile.</p><p class="p1">“Celebrazione?” He asks, looking between Harry and I. I assume that means celebration.</p><p class="p1">“Celebrazione,” Harry replies proudly, resting both hands palm down on the table. The waiter disappears back into the crowd and Harry looks back at me. “I just got us a bottle of their best red wine.”</p><p class="p1">A fucking 365.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">Harry groans in my ear deep from his chest, both of his hands hovering above my hips while mine are struggling to find something to hold onto.</p><p class="p1">This is so good it’s like I’m drowning in the pleasure, like the only thing I can see is white, white light after every thrust, every touch.</p><p class="p1">“Lou, you feel fucking incredible,” he sighs into my ear, biting down on the lobe. So does he. “You have no idea what you do to me. Taking over from the inside and out.”</p><p class="p1">The drag of his cock as he pulls out to readjust is even addicting, and I bear down when he’s pushing back in, bending one of my knees up and over his shoulder for a deeper angle. It stings exactly how it’s supposed to.</p><p class="p1">I whine slightly more high pitched than I wanted, my cock trapped between my stomach and his and subjected to the slow-moving friction. It’s not enough and yet it’s everything. I need—Well, I know what I need.</p><p class="p1">“Harder,” I say through the moans, both hands twisting up in the sheets. He picks up his pace just a little bit, thrusting a little deeper and with a little more force, but I still need— “Harry, I need you to fuck me like you used to.”</p><p class="p1">“What?” He pulls back from biting at my shoulder to look at me with a furrowed brow, thrusting still at an even pace somehow. He’s so good at sex.</p><p class="p1">“I need you to have that control over me right now. I love the sex we’ve had recently, but I just—“ I think of yesterday, how dirty talk flowed off of his tongue, how the way he slid a finger alongside his cock inside of me and made me take it drove me crazy, made me come almost instantly. “Hold me down and fuck me, okay? Please?”</p><p class="p1">“Are you sure?”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Harry,</em>” I punctuate with frustration, bringing his hands down against my hips and pressing them into my skin.</p><p class="p1">He gets the point, his fingers digging in, and I want the bruises right now. I want the evidence.</p><p class="p1">I shift so both of my legs are parted, hands coming up to dig into his back.</p><p class="p1">I’m barely touching his skin when he says, “Hands.”</p><p class="p1">I smile, bringing my hands up above my head willingly. There’s no barred headboard for me to hold onto so I settle on intertwining them. It’s harder like this not to touch him when I don’t have any literal restraint, and I fucking love it.</p><p class="p1">“That’s it, baby,” I encourage him through hooded eyelids. What a great fucking vacation so far.</p><p class="p1">“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says in response, his thumb pulling at my bottom lip before inching it inside for me to suck on. “All for me, huh?”</p><p class="p1">I nod, humming a ‘yes’ around his thumb. He pulls it, offering me his palm to lick over before wrapping his fist around me. </p><p class="p1">"I love you," I tell him as I somehow form words through the blinding fire shooting all over my body. Everything feels sensitive. </p><p class="p1">Every time is electric with him, but some of them feel like lightning fields. </p><p class="p1">"I love you," he says, rubbing his spare hand over my cheek with an adoring look on his face that seems so out of place when he immediately declares, "Want to take you from behind." </p><p class="p1">He pulls out abruptly, and I try to position myself exactly the way I want it. Where's the mirror from the Paris hotel now? I think I would kill to have a view of this. </p><p class="p1">"You know, you're right," I say as he thrusts in, the force sending me from my hands to my forearms. His hands pull at my hips so I'm angled just right. </p><p class="p1">"About what?" </p><p class="p1">"About filming this." I look back at him over my shoulder. He's concentrated, sweat glistening on his skin, small curls more prominent at the base of his neck. "I want to see." </p><p class="p1">Harry smirks, rubbing a hand down my back until it's buried in my hair and he's pushing my head against the pillow. That part isn't rough as I'd like right now, but I get that he has limits. It's ironic, really. He's so vulnerable to me now that he can't go back to a time this was just two bodies chasing orgasms and not giving two shits how they got there. </p><p class="p1">"We'll make that happen one day." </p><p class="p1">"One day," I echo, rolling my hips back the next time he thrusts in. Both of us gasp at the feeling, air literally leaving my body. </p><p class="p1">I feel his hands pull me apart, looking at how he's fucking me, stretching me open. My cock aches for some sort of contact, but I know that I can't touch. Something about the excitement of that makes me even harder. </p><p class="p1">"Can I come inside of you?" He still asks, and that makes my heart skip a beat. </p><p class="p1">"Yeah," I breathe out. "I want that." </p><p class="p1">"Okay," he breathes back, lips on the back of my neck, his full body weight on top of me. I feel one of his hands snake around to start jerking me off and it's just how I like it. I know there will be a stipulation before he even says it. "No coming until I do, understood?" </p><p class="p1">I nod so fucking blissed out, encapsulated in him, him, him. </p><p class="p1">His thrusts are getting sloppier the closer he gets, the familiar feeling of his hips snapping in a certain way telling me that he doesn't have all of the power even if I gave it to him. I'm making him come undone, too. </p><p class="p1">It's funny like that. </p><p class="p1">"Want you to fill me up," I toss behind my shoulder just for good measure, and almost on cue, he does. We've done this so many times since Paris it's become second nature, but I'm still not used to the way it feels. It's warm and messy and feels so claiming, so territorial. When he pulls out, it always trickles just a little bit down my thighs, and he likes to watch. "Fuck, H." </p><p class="p1">I'm not prepared for him to shove a finger inside of me after he slides out, rubbing it against my prostate. The sensitivity is making my legs shake, intense waves running up my spine. He jerks me off faster, squeezing the tip, rubbing a thumb over the slit at the top, and that's it. I don't ask to come, I just do it. Hardly. Thrusting back onto his finger and into his fist until I want to squirm away. He keeps me in place, milking every last bit out of me. </p><p class="p1">He only stops when I have nothing more to show for it. </p><p class="p1">"Fucking hell," he announces, running both hands up my back while I'm trying to breathe evenly again against the pillow under my face. </p><p class="p1">"I miss that sometimes," I say like I just ran a marathon, swallowing and reaching blindly for a glass of water I know I have on the nightstand. </p><p class="p1">He kisses my low back soothingly, massaging at my ass. "I'll get you more water, handsome. Be right back." </p><p class="p1">I think I hear the sink running from the bathroom in my haze, and trying to move when he comes back feels like I'm paralyzed with heavy limbs and slow motion. He stops me before I turn over, a warm washcloth against my skin. I sigh in satisfaction, molding into the mattress as I let him take care of me. </p><p class="p1">I flip over when he wants me to, let him slowly kiss my neck while he cleans up the rest of my stomach and brushes over my cock. The sensation is a lot, makes me hiss and move away. Harry smiles against my skin and probably thinking that he did that. He sure did. </p><p class="p1">Both of us drink our water, me practically chugging the entire glass down while he sips his like a normal human. Not quite sure how he's managing that considering what we just did, but he's a surprising man. </p><p class="p1">"That was intense." </p><p class="p1">"Are you okay?" </p><p class="p1">"Oh yeah," I say halfway through swallowing the last gulp of water. "I'm more than okay." I turn my body to rest a hand over his chest, fingers tracing over his tattoos. "Thank you for that." </p><p class="p1">"All you have to do is ask," he replies, placing a lingering kiss on the top of my head. "You want to go for a late lunch? I think I could eat my arm." </p><p class="p1">"Is that place you wanted to try reservation only?" </p><p class="p1">"It is, but I bet I could pull some strings." He kisses my lips this time and then sits on the edge of the bed to call them. </p><p class="p1">I run my fingers over his back, absently feel a couple of places my nails definitely were as he launches into a conversation in Italian for the hundredth time this trip. I watch him in awe, thinking that I don't know how one person can make domestics so addicting. </p><p class="p1">So much has changed for us. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>good, good things</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy second to last chapter (and there will be an epilogue of course &lt;3 so i'm gonna add a chapter to the count) but i'm yelling this has been a wild time and never did I imagine i would have over 5000 reads on this tiny little idea i had floating around in my brain</p><p>love you all</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I only know two things today: Harry had a meeting with his father this morning after securing lucky number seven, and it's so hot my thighs are starting to stick to the leather seat in the Range Rover. </p><p>"Can you tell me where we're going?" I ask impatiently, shifting around in my seat. "And can we possibly, I don't know, put the air conditioning on? It's fucking boiling in here, Niall." </p><p>"The windows are open," he says like that somehow changes the fact it's a ninety-degree August day. </p><p>"Yes, I see that," I argue back, fighting against the wind starting to pour in as we pick up speed. </p><p>"The air conditioning makes the car less responsive, and we're on a time crunch." </p><p>"God, you sound just like a father sometimes." </p><p>"Need I remind you that I am indeed a father?" </p><p>"You're annoying." I reach for the air conditioning dial, but he literally bats my hand away. "I'll tell Harry about this." </p><p>"Don't tell Harry!" He exclaims in a joking panic. I know it really wouldn't do anything to tell Harry, and nor do I even intend it literally. I'm not one of <em>those </em>people, thankfully. I've managed to get through my lifestyle change without inheriting the arrogance. So far. "Harry just wants me to get you there on time." </p><p>"Oh yeah," I say with the realization that he still hasn't answered my initial question. "<em>Where</em> exactly does he want you to get me on time?" </p><p>"I already gave you the address, Tomlinson, I'm not sure what more you want from me."</p><p>"I looked up the address and it led us to a couple of empty buildings." </p><p>"Then I guess you're going to a couple of empty buildings." </p><p>"<em>Niall</em>." </p><p>"<em>Louis</em>," he shoots back with the same tone, looking over at me once we safely stop at a red light. Apparently, we're only four minutes away from wherever we're going. "I really don't know. Why would you think he would tell <em>me</em> over <em>you</em>?" </p><p>I shrug. I don't know. Good point. </p><p>"How's Hannah adapting to her second semester?" He glares over at me like I just asked him the most absurd question. "What?" I laugh. </p><p>"I don't know anything else." </p><p>"I'm not trying to bribe you! I'm genuinely asking about Hannah. Sophomore year sucked for me." </p><p>"You'll have to wait to hear all about it sadly," Niall notes, turning slowly into the empty parking lot, "because we're here." </p><p>I look out the window, caught off guard by the fact that it really is a couple of empty buildings on the bottom of a much larger building. I'm surprised the parking lot is empty, but then I realize that it's barely a parking lot and instead a gravel road that's weirdly unfinished considering the large parking garage nearby. I don't know why Harry brought me here. Not even a guess coming to mind. </p><p>"What is this? Is he inside?" </p><p>Niall shrugs. "He gave me an address, so I drove to an address." He turns to look over his shoulder. "Don't forget your bag is in the back this time. I thought I was going to dislocate my shoulder trying to bring it up to Harry's." </p><p>"You got a beer out of it," I say back with a smirk, but I get out of the car, and I don't forget to grab it out of the backseat. </p><p>He drives away after I shut the door, and then it's just me and the kicked-up dust of the unpaved back lot and an empty building I'm apparently supposed to walk into. I'm nervous as anyone else would be, my feet carrying me towards the door slowly, and my hand pulling on it even more slowly. </p><p>The inside is dirty, and I crinkle my nose up at the smell, dodging large piles of dirt and dust. </p><p>"Hello?" I call to the empty building, still hesitant to move until I hear movement. Naturally, I walk towards the movement, my legs just moving how they're supposed to despite my bubbling fear. It's stupid, really. It isn't like Harry would send me here and let anything happen to me. We're well past the point where I have to worry about getting kidnapped or murdered by the guy with so much money it doesn't make sense. </p><p>I find Harry standing in one of the bigger rooms off of the hallway, a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting on the ledge behind him. He looks like he's been here for a while, and he's wearing proper clothes for the occasion this time--a pair of tennis shoes with workout shorts and a white t-shirt. He's even wearing a hat--one of mine, might I add, that looks far better on him--backward, his sunglasses resting on top. </p><p>"What do you think?" He asks, a smile on his face like I'm supposed to understand where I am and what's going on. </p><p>"What do I think?" Harry nods. "I think we're in an empty building, and I think that I'm confused about it. Even more confused about the way you have wine and glasses behind you like there's nothing abnormal about this." </p><p>"It's yours." </p><p>"What's mine?" </p><p>"This building." He puts his hands on his hips, shoulders rounding back. He looks proud. So proud. I'm missing so many pieces. </p><p>"What do you mean this building is mine?" </p><p>"I mean it's yours. It's in your name." </p><p>My mouth runs dry, and my eyebrows furrow together. I open my mouth to speak and stop, putting a finger against my lips. My building? A building in my name? A building that I somehow now own without us ever talking about me needing or wanting a building. </p><p>"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "I feel like I should be more excited about this, but I'm really not sure what I'm excited about. You look over the moon about whatever it is." </p><p>"An explanation would be good, wouldn't it?" </p><p>"Yeah," I partially scoff, partially laugh. "That would be good." </p><p>"Okay," he says like it's not a big deal, turning around and moving around his hands as he talks. "Picture this: you have a desk right here. A nice oak one like the one in my office that you love so much, and you have a nice dark leather chair, but one with good posture control because you always slouch." I stand up straight the moment he says it. "A couple of bookcases over here on the left, your degree up on the wall on the right next to the pictures of your family and maybe you and I because you want to be a family lawyer, and what better way to make people more comfortable than to show you actually love yours?" Oh my god. He bought me a building. "And then in front, you'll have two chairs to match yours, and on the ground, there'll be nice hardwood. Like proper hardwood that we'll have to take care of but that's no matter." </p><p>"Harry." </p><p>He ignores me, brushing past to point at the other offices. "These will be meant for the other people working under you. I mean, you're going to be the best, so you'll need lots of other offices. Plus one for the printer and the files and all of that. It'll take some time to finish, of course, but yeah." Harry turns back to face me, taking a breath. "This is yours." </p><p>"You bought me a building." </p><p>"It's for your firm." I open my mouth, but he just keeps talking, and I let him because he sounds so happy, and really this is just taking me a minute to process but I think that I'm happy too. "Now, I know that you aren't going to graduate for another few years, and you'll have to pass the actual exam, and then you'll have to gain experience and get a clientele base, but I wanted this to be here. All of the projections talk about how this area is going to be bustling in the next couple of years, so that'll be right on time. I thought maybe I could use it as a start-up for myself until I figure out who's going to stay and who's going to go, and then I can move to a bigger office in downtown Manhattan. If you'll let me, of course, it is <em>your</em> building." </p><p>I look around at all of it, trying to imagine what it would be like. I've dreamt of this moment for as long as I could remember. I never wanted to work in corporate firms, I never wanted to work under people if I had a say in it. I wanted to work alone, maybe with others under me who would understand the importance of the work we do and the people we would help. Plus, I only just realized I wanted to work in the family branch, and he remembered. </p><p>I don't know why I'm shocked every time that remembers something, but it's like a reflex, a shock to the system that someone is always listening even when it's in the middle of the night, and I'm delusional talking about my ideas with a toothbrush in my mouth after studying all day. It makes me feel like my parents.</p><p>"I don't know what to say," I answer honestly because I've never been in this situation. What do you say? Thank you? I guess thank you would work, but that feels way too small for the moment. This deserves something so much bigger. Bigger than a thank you, bigger than an appreciation, bigger than backing him up against the nearest wall and taking him down my throat. </p><p>"You don't have to say anything. Unless you hate the idea, of course, and that's fine. I would change the name over or whatever you wanted. I just--If something were to happen to me or <em>fuck</em> if something were to happen to us, I didn't want it to matter. That would have nothing to do with the kind of lawyer you'll be. And I know this is a lot. I mean, I just bought you a building, which is probably enough to send a lot of people away, and I've been working like crazy to not giving so much away as a way to show someone that I'm in this, but I'm in this, baby. Like so in this that the first thing I did when I saw this place is call the number and find out how much it costs." </p><p>"How much <em>did </em>it cost?" </p><p>"I'm not telling you that because then you'll really think that I'm crazy." </p><p>I smile to myself, shaking my head. "I can't believe this." </p><p>"Try to because it's yours." </p><p>This is mine. This building, this life, him. God, him. How did I do this? I still don't know. </p><p>My head turns back his way, and I don't know how I look mainly because I'm not sure how to put my emotions into words. It must not be bad, though, because he looks at me like nothing could possibly go wrong. </p><p>I think my only response is to kiss him. </p><p>So I do. Hands on his hips, his hands cradling my cheeks after he realizes that this isn't just a casual kiss, and I want to stay here for a while. I move our lips together, taking the lead, sliding in my tongue when I want to. I'm pouring so much into this. </p><p>We pull away after a few minutes, my lungs working in overdrive to bring my breathing back to normal. He doesn't wipe at his lips and neither do I. I just lean up a little to run my hands over the curls peeking out through from under the hat, twirling one around my finger. </p><p>"Thank you feels absolutely underwhelming to say but I have to say it," I say, smiling adoringly up at him. "Thank you." </p><p>"You're welcome," he says back, smiling just as hard. "I know this is so far from normal." </p><p>I shrug. It is, but I don't expect other people to understand. "Nothing about us has ever been normal." </p><p>"No," he breathes out in a happy huff. "No, nothing has." </p><p>I look past his shoulder again the wine glasses catching the sunlight. "Did you bring that bottle from home?" </p><p>He walks backward to reach for it, tracing his hands over the label. "I did some hunting around the website of that place we went to in Italy when you found your scores, and this was the most expensive bottle they had to offer. I didn't remember the name of the one the waiter brought us, but I figured it was probably this one." </p><p>"So you bought it." </p><p>"So I bought it." </p><p>"I would've never taken you as a romantic in the beginning, you know. I like it." </p><p>"We were different in the beginning. <em>I </em>was different in the beginning." </p><p>"I was, too." </p><p>"I was scared." Yeah, I was too. Scared of a lot. Scared of things outside of him. "I'm not scared anymore." </p><p>***</p><p>"I've been clean for three months," I tell Dr. Brooke, sitting up straight in the chair, looking him right in the eye. "Three months and a day, actually. A day today." </p><p>"Congratulations," Dr. Brooke responds, tipping his head down as a sign of respect and pride. "I know that was one of your goals after our session before you took the practice bar." </p><p>I just wanted three months. Three months, I thought, and then I would be over the usual hump and on a path of actual healing. </p><p>"I still get the craving. I think I might always get the craving, but I don't--There are other things I can do now that take that away." </p><p>"Like what?" </p><p>"Well, I'm in my second year now. You know that. That's been hard, but I'm really trying to study harder, so I've been spending a lot more time doing that. Also trying to make a conscious effort to network more with my professors. I know I'm coming up on internship time in a year." I bounce my leg just a little bit because I know what comes after I say this next bit, but I try to keep my cool about it. "Harry and I went to visit home in between our sessions. It wasn't prompted, so I didn't mention anything. Lottie and the twins just mentioned they missed me, and we were in a position where we could drop everything and go."</p><p>"Did you have a good time?" </p><p>"It was nice, yeah," I nod, slowly, tentatively. Where's the million-dollar question, doctor? "I want to be involved in their lives more. Not that I wasn't before, but I--You know." </p><p>He'll say he doesn't even though he does. That's just what happens in therapy, I've gathered.</p><p>"Why don't you explain it to me, Louis?" </p><p>I swallow, dropping my eye contact for the first time since the session started. Harry keeps telling me this will get easier to talk about, and I'm still waiting for that moment. I guess it doesn't feel so much like drowning anymore, but I'm definitely still underwater. </p><p>"It was just hard before my mom died. Everything we talked about, the things we did, they all revolved around what was happening with Mom, what would happen to Mom, what we would do after she died." </p><p>"What would you do after she died?" </p><p>I clear my throat just for something to do, furrowing my brows for a second as I stall. "I always thought I would bottom out. I used to tell them that, and I think they thought I meant the kind of depression expected after grief, but they didn't know about the using thing. They still don't." I laugh to myself and at myself. "I guess I did that." </p><p>"You're making progress, though," he points out, crossing his legs with a grunt. "It's important that you don't forget that." </p><p>"This feels like AA."</p><p>"You were an addict, Louis." </p><p>I look at him when he says it, his face the kind of partial empathy and partial emotionless that's usually expected in settings like this. </p><p><em>You were an addict, Louis</em>. </p><p>Yeah, I guess I was. It's not like I didn't know that, either. I was very much aware, but to hear him say it out loud...</p><p>"Those grieving groups you gave me," I start, looking back down at my feet shuffling against the carpet. "I started going with Harry a while back." </p><p>"You told me." Right. I told him. "Are they helping?" </p><p>"They're comforting, in a way. I don't know. It feels weird to say that because it's just a bunch of people going through the same thing and that thing is really hard. I wasn't really prepared for how hard it would be." </p><p>"Has Harry going been helpful to you?" </p><p>"Yeah," I say with a slight smile at how comforting it's been to have him there holding my hand. "I've talked a few times."</p><p>"Good," he nods. "How do you feel afterward?" </p><p>"It depends," I shrug. "Last week, nothing really happened. I spoke and then Harry and I went out to dinner. The time before that I couldn't stop crying in the car until we got back home." </p><p>"That's a normal response to grief and trauma." </p><p>Trauma. I never really considered it like that before. </p><p>***</p><p>"You know, we're thinking about kids," Liam mentions casually, taking a swig of his beer at the bar we're both leaned up against. </p><p>I almost choke on my drink. "<em>Kids</em>? Li, you're not even three months into the marriage." </p><p>"I didn't say right now," he says back. "In the future. She agreed with me when I said I wanted to be graduated and starting my career. Could you imagine another person to look after in the midst of this year?" </p><p>No, I can't. We're only a few weeks into the semester and it feels like hell. "Those late-night seminars on Thursday nights are killing me." </p><p>"Then they want us to come in early Friday for a class on fucking property." </p><p>"Boring." </p><p>"Insanely." </p><p>Kendall's laughter from across the way makes us both look over to where the rest of our group is. She's prodding Harry with a pool stick who immediately points down at his shirt and then says something that I can't make out. He just bought that too. Gucci, if I'm remembering correctly. Him and his fucking clothes. </p><p>"Is it weird being married?" I ask, not taking my eyes off of Harry. It's his turn to shoot, bending over just a little to position the pool stick. I watch his arm move back just a bit, hear the impact of the cue ball hitting the green striped one. He misses. </p><p>"I don't think so. I thought it would feel a lot different, but it doesn't, really. Maybe because we were together for a while and living together for some time before. We just have rings now and joint finances." </p><p>"You decided to go through with that?" There was a time where he didn't think he would want to. He stopped over wanting our advice about it, which was ironic considering Gigi told us Natalie came to them with the same thing. It's not like Harry and I are married. Nor Gi and Kendall. Not even engaged. </p><p>At least not yet. </p><p>Liam doesn't have time to answer before Gigi walks in, throwing her hands in the air and announcing her presence with a "Hey, party people!" </p><p>She greets Liam and I without a single clue about the real reason we're all here. She just thinks we're all getting drinks after our respected days. Too bad Li and I's day isn't over and we'll be going straight back to the library after this, Harry and Natalie either coming with us in some capacity to work on their own things or hanging out. They've done that a lot recently with Liam and I gone. I always knew they'd like each other. </p><p>I watch her walk over to the pool table totally clueless, kissing Kendall hello, greeting Harry, Nat, Zayn, and Gretchen. I'm starting to like her a bit more now, too, considering she's not doing coke off of Zayn's dick as I walk in through the front door. I'm probably better off not living there these days. </p><p>"I'm going to grab another round for everyone for this. Help me carry it over?" </p><p>"Yeah, of course," I nod, turning to face the bar as Liam runs through everyone's drink orders save for Harry's and Gretchen's. I have to ask Gretchen for hers, but I know Harry's by heart. </p><p>"I did decide to go through with the finance thing," he says after a beat, thanking the bartender as he sets down each drink. "It was stupid to think about keeping it separate." </p><p>"A lot of people do these days." </p><p>"Do you and Harry?" He asks and then backtracks when he notices I'm taken aback. "Sorry. That's personal." </p><p>Oh. I'm not offended. "No need to apologize. Harry and I--Well, we aren't married for starters. Plus, I don't know how comfortable I would be doing that. He makes way more money than me and probably always will even when you and I are both hotshot lawyers. Could complicate things. Who knows, though. I don't know shit about marriage. Just know everyone talks about money being a big point of contention." </p><p>He laughs. "I still can't believe he already bought you a space." </p><p>"I can't either." I look over my shoulder at Harry who happens to catch my eye at the same time, blowing a kiss and winking in my direction. "I really can't either." </p><p>"I like him a lot better than the other guys you've brought along over the years, by the way," he says as he grabs his portion of the drinks, and I'm struggling to handle mine. "Regardless of where we are, he looks at you like you're the only one there. Or at least the only one who matters." </p><p>*** </p><p>It takes an hour of drinks before Kendall gives us the signal. I mentally prepare for the kind of looks we're all going to get after this as Liam counts down from three and then we launch into some sorry version of I'm Yours by Jason Mraz. </p><p>Gigi looks shocked, nearly dropping her drink on the floor. As predicted, the rest of the bar looks over at our table, and the way there's eight of us piled into a both probably made for half that many. I ignore the awkward attention, remembering my part.</p><p>Yes, we have parts. </p><p>Kendall called me in a half panic about a month ago walking directly out of the ring store because apparently the moment just struck and she wanted to beat Gigi to it, so she bought a ring and didn't know what to do about a proposal. I told her I was the worst person to ask about this because Gigi likes grand gestures and the idea of anyone doing what we're doing for her right now makes me want to literally bury myself alive, but she came over anyway and I pulled Harry into the living room and away from his work to brainstorm. </p><p>After two hours of planning, we landed on this idea. A couple of calls later and we were all on some absurd conference call crafting this very moment. </p><p>"They're singing our song," Gigi says, looking panicked, but I know her and that's just her face when she's realizing something really good is about to happen. "Kendall, they're singing our song. Why are they singing our song? Oh my god, you're getting down on one knee and they're singing our song." </p><p>"Gi, I love you so much," Kendall starts, the rest of the bar now staring directly at the two of them as the rest of us hum <em>I won't hesitate no more, no more, it cannot wait. I'm sure. </em>"This song played on that cruise we took together at the beginning of our relationship when everyone thought we were going too fast and spending a week together was crazy." </p><p>I didn't, but that's neither here nor there. </p><p>"Oh my god," Gigi gushes, literally frozen in place. </p><p>"You make me feel like we're drunk on cheap margs while we're lounging out in the sun every day. Want to make that forever?"</p><p>"Oh my god," Gi says again, and the song comes to a close right as we planned. I feel like the entire bar is hanging in suspense, all of us collectively holding our breath. Finally, she rushes out, "Yes, yes, god, yes. I was going to--Well, it doesn't matter. Just put the ring on, put the ring on. Fuck, it's gorgeous. You're gorgeous. This is--" She pauses to take a breath, kissing Kendall hard with both hands on her face while the entire bar erupts in one loud cheer.</p><p>When they break away, Kendall looks like she's about to pass out, placing one hand over her chest. "That was easily the most nervewracking experience of my life."</p><p>"We're gonna get married, baby!" Gigi says to her happily, kissing her again, and then looking over at us. "And you all planned this?" </p><p>"Weeks ago at our place," I chime in, and Harry squeezes my hand underneath the table. </p><p>"I had no idea. Holy shit. So much for just drinks with friends after work."</p><p>"Surprise," Kendall gushes. </p><p>"I'm going to get us more drinks," Liam announces because he's the designated drink person sitting on the edge of the booth, pressing a kiss to Nat's cheek. </p><p>"And then there were four," Kendall says while she sips on her drink, looking directly at Harry and I. </p><p>Oh no. No, no, no. We're not there yet. No way.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>okay so this is four parts: spice, lilo moment, intense moment, soft moment</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i literally did not want to stop writing this and in turn it ended up being like 7k lmao i'm so sorry but i kept going because i wanted this to be perfect!! </p><p>there will be one more chapter after this for an epilogue but here's the closing i can't believe it </p><p>also also thank you all so much for your support it's been insane</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mr. Tomlinson?" </p><p>I perk up at Phillip's voice, dropping my pen down on the dining room table. I'm only page 30 out of 75 of my reading for this evening (for <em>one</em> class out of three), and my eyes are already starting to burn. </p><p>I know what he's going to ask. </p><p>"I haven't heard from Harry yet." </p><p>"Do you want me to package your meals?" </p><p>"Yeah, that'd be good," I say with a polite smile, ignoring the disappointment settling in my stomach that the two of us won't have a proper sit-down meal tonight and haven't in a few weeks. It just hasn't worked out that way. "Leave the dishes, too. I can do them." </p><p>"Are you sure, Mr. Tomlinson?" </p><p>"I'm sure. I need a break from sitting here." I rub at my shoulder, trying to massage out one of the knots settling there. </p><p>He nods as a show of understanding, disappearing into the kitchen to plate our food and probably place it into the oven to keep warm. I tap the screen on my phone, frowning at the lack of notification, and picking it up to see where he is. </p><p>
  <em>Daniels canceled class tomorrow morning, so i can actually stay up with you tonight :) will you be home soon? </em>
</p><p>I almost don't expect a reply. He's been emotionally off all week, distant from our conversations and from his own body. I haven't quite a finger on why, and it's making me go a little bit crazy. In my mind, I know him so well that I should be able to decipher what's on his mind without him saying it, but I remind myself every day it's only been just under a year. We're still learning about each other. It just so happens that I'm apparently extremely predictable and he's more vague at first.</p><p>He at least told me that it wasn't anything I've done when I asked about it a few days ago. I believe him. We've never had an issue coming to the other about things that are bothering us. We just talk it out and then we adjust and it's fine. That's working for us. </p><p>Which makes this even more frustrating. </p><p>I don't know how to make whatever is going on better without knowing what it is, and I want to make it better </p><p>My phone dings and my stomach gets those butterflies knowing that it has to be him. </p><p>
  <em>I just left the office. So happy you'll be awake when I get home, baby. I miss you.</em>
</p><p>I type back a quick <em>i miss you too, H, see you soon </em></p><p>Phillip announces that he's leaving, describing the meal he just set in the oven. It sounds absolutely delicious, and my mouth waters slightly at the idea of digging into that hopefully soon. I stand up to stretch my legs and work on the dishes, scrubbing happily at the plates and pans resting inside of the warm water. If I had a say in it, I would dispense of any of the help Harry wants for these sorts of things.</p><p>If I had a say in it. Do I hear myself? This isn't just his place anymore. It's ours. And he's always told me that if I want changes, all we have to do is talk about it. I do have a say in it. </p><p>I should talk to him. This reminds me of home, settles warmly in my chest. Doing the dishes used to be part of my chore chart, and though I hated being told to it, I secretly loved it. It was nice to smell the soapy water, wash all of the food off of the plates and place them back in their rightful place squeaky clean. It was especially nice to hear my mom exclaim about how nice it all was and how happy it made her. </p><p>Harry walks in, dropping the keys on top of the table in the foyer and hanging up his things. He must've taken the car himself. That's normally a sign that he wants to clear his own head. </p><p>My hands are still deep in the water when he rounds the corner, smiling tiredly and happily when he sees me standing there behind the sink. I smile back, not saying a word until he's pressing his body behind mine, hugging me tightly and pulling me closer to his chest. His lips are on my neck, humming satisfied against my skin. </p><p>"Hi babe," I sigh, melting into the way he's sucking softly against my skin. God, we haven't had time to do this lately, and now even the slightest touch is enough to make my knees weak. </p><p>"Hi," he sighs back, pressing a quick kiss over the spot and settling on a stool across from me. "I saw you have stuff on the table. Are you studying more tonight?" </p><p>"I was. Definitely need a break. Over three hundred pages were assigned for tomorrow between all of my classes, so I'm starting to see double." </p><p>"That sucks," he pouts for my benefit. "Can I be part of some of your break time?" </p><p>"Was kind of hoping you'd be in all of it." </p><p>His face brightens at that like he somehow wouldn't be where I'd want to funnel my attention. I have to take advantage of the fact I don't have to go to bed at eight-thirty right now, and that includes spending at least a solid two hours with him before I go back to finish the reading for the fucking curse of a late Thursday night seminar. </p><p>"Then I'll shower the day off of me and meet you back down here?" He asks, standing up to head upstairs. "We can do whatever you want." </p><p>I blush into the peck he gives me on the cheek, watching him disappear from the kitchen and listening to him make his way up the stairs. My skin is still tingling from just his hands on my hips and his lips on my neck, my mind racing thinking about intimacy, and yeah. I'm done here, and he's not coming back downstairs until we're hungrier than we already are. </p><p>I turn off the water, draining the sink and cleaning out the strainer with the knowledge that I'm under a bit of a time crunch now. He's fast to take a shower when it's just a rinse, and I have something in mind for him, something in mind for <em>us</em>. This should take his mind off of whatever is ailing him enough that I notice a difference, and this will definitely clear my head.</p><p>Harry's closet is neatly organized as I go through it, listening carefully for any indication he's about to be out of the shower. My fingers brush over shirt after shirt until I find it. It's a soft silky gray that I wore months ago after we decided to grab some leftovers after sex and it was too cold to walk down there naked. He loved me in it. Couldn't keep his hands off of me and we ended up fucking again on the kitchen counter. </p><p>This is perfect. </p><p>I strip, leaving all of my clothes in a pile directly in the middle of the closet space, sloppily buttoning this up and rushing to the bedroom when I hear him turn the water off. Harry doesn't usually change in the bathroom, so he'll walk out in a towel. That will be perfect for this moment and how I'm positioning myself in the most seductive way possible on top of our neatly made bed that's begging to be wrecked right now. </p><p>He opens the door. </p><p>Then he stops right in the doorway, staring at me, scanning his eyes over my body. </p><p>"Louis," he says and he sounds breathless, taken aback, exactly how I wanted him to sound. </p><p>"You like it?" </p><p>"You're wearing one of my work shirts." </p><p>"With absolutely nothing underneath. Just undo a couple of buttons, baby, and I'm completely naked for you." </p><p>Harry's jaw clenches as he swallows, running a hand through his wet hair. "Fuck, you look gorgeous. You know I love it when you wear my clothes." </p><p>"I know," I nod with a smirk, beckoning him over to the bed. He takes a couple of uncoordinated steps, eye contact never breaking, and he stops just at the edge of the bed. I prop myself up a bit on my knees, the bed low enough that that's almost the perfect height to rest my hands on his hips and kiss over the tattoo across his stomach. I trace the lines of it by memory, hearing him take a sharp inhale and hold his breath. </p><p>He brings a hand up to my hair, loosely grabbing at the strands. "Your mouth is so fucking good, Lou." </p><p>And I haven't even touched his cock yet. I kiss up to his chest, tracing the swallows with my lips, and then we're hovering face to face, my lips brushing his teasingly. "Here's what's going to happen: I'm going to get on my knees for you, suck you off while I'm wearing your shirt and then you can either keep it on me or take it off of me, I don't care, but you will fuck me." </p><p>"You sound sexy when you talk like that," he says quietly, the words falling from his lips and directly into mine. </p><p>"Yeah?" I tease, kissing him so hard he almost steps backward. He shaved a few days ago, but he has some stubble coming in, tickling against my face, and it's nice, it's one of the best feelings I've ever had in my life. Plus, he smells like a dream--body wash and remnants of his cologne that always seems to stick around even when he's showered. </p><p>"What if you greeted me after a shower like this every day?" He asks once we're separated, and I'm shoving him back just a little bit to get down on my knees. I reach for the part of the towel tucked into itself, undoing it and dropping it to the ground. </p><p>"I would need to be here every day." At a normal time and ideally more conscious than collapsing face down into bed and speaking incoherently about my day. </p><p>"Don't remind me that you aren't," he says back with no intentions, but it makes me kind of sad. </p><p>Just for a minute though. There really is no time for sadness when the fern leaves following the v of his hips are right here and begging for my attention. I'm on a kick of pressing my lips to his tattoos tonight, so they should really, <em>really</em> be no different. In fact, they might even be my favorite.</p><p>He grips my hair again once I'm kissing over them, the action familiar for both of us. He knows what comes next, and his hard-on pressed up against his stomach and nudging underneath of my chin reminds me that I know what's next. I fight the urge to reach down and palm myself right now knowing that he's so turned on because of <em>me</em>. I'm doing this. </p><p>I take him into my mouth unceremoniously, and he groans, his head immediately dropping back. I can feel the tension in his body underneath my fingertips as I try to get him to relax, both of my hands pressing into his hips to keep him in place. His hands are back in my hair, gripping harder than they were before as my name runs off of his tongue and sounds so fucking intoxicating. Yes, I'll have this for the rest of my life, please. </p><p>"Taste so good, H." </p><p>"You look so good." He looks down at me, both dimples visible as he runs his thumb over where his cock is pressed into my cheek. I open my eyes, blinking up at him. "So beautiful." </p><p>I blow him like everything rests on this moment. </p><p>It's sloppy how it usually is when we have pent up energy--too much spit, one hand wrapped around the base to make sure I'm always touching even when my jaw is taking a break, and I take him down my throat, let him make me gag a little bit. The sounds filling the room are obscene, they sound like <em>us</em>, pure and unedited, and when his hips start to snap forward and his breathing goes ragged, I know to pull off, leaving him spiraling.</p><p>I have no shirt to fist and pull him back in bed and on top of me, and it's like he knows what I'm thinking because he fists mine (well, his) and drags me on top of him instead. We both smile into it when I lean down to kiss him, biting down on his lower lip, hands in his hair as I'm grinding down fluidly and slowly. </p><p>"We're gonna need lube," I announce when we part to breathe and I'm so hard I can't even think straight. My hands move on their own accord to the end table drawer, reaching blindly into it and fishing past the empty condom wrappers and lube bottles until I find the one we've really enjoyed lately. It's organic, too. Naturally. </p><p>"Want you so bad," he moans into my neck while he's mouthing at any bit of skin he can and I'm slicking up two fingers to quickly prep. Jesus, I should've done this before so I was ready. This is just wasting time. </p><p>"Want you, baby," I say back, deciding that literally thirty seconds of trying to scissor myself open is enough. I at least have enough sense to sit back on his thighs and pour <em>way</em> too much lube over my palm to cover his cock before lining us up. Not like that'll matter much anyways. </p><p>My lips part in a whine once he's inside of me, adjusting for a minute and trying to grit my teeth to stop the burn. I know it'll pass the moment I start moving. </p><p>"You okay?" </p><p>I look down at him and realize that my nails are digging into his chest, little crescent moon shapes appearing when I move my hands. I mutter an apology and then say, "You're big," like it isn't an obscene thing to say. </p><p>"I know that," he replies, a playfully cocky air about him that just makes me hit his shoulder and then beckon him to sit up and come closer to me. </p><p>"You're an arrogant asshole," I press into his lips, finally moving, and yeah. That's so much fucking better. </p><p>"You're enjoying yourself, though," he notes, and I wish that I could contain the whimper that comes out of my mouth when he thrusts up just right, "and you love me." </p><p>"I do love you, and I am enjoying myself," I take a long pause for emphasis but also because he just licked his hand and snaked it down in between us, moving in an agonizingly slow up and down motion on my cock, "but you're still an arrogant asshole." </p><p>Harry shakes his head with a cheesy grin, kissing me to shut us both us, and it works, and we don't stop kissing the entire rest of the time. Every sound we make ends up muffled by the other while we let our bodies do the rest of the communicating and we sure know how to talk. </p><p>It doesn't take long to say some resemblance of his name into his mouth, abs tightening, literally forgetting that I'm wearing his shirt until the last minute when I'm fumbling to start unbuttoning it to take it off. </p><p>"What are you doing?" Harry says, his teeth clinking into mine and making us both laugh. </p><p>"I'm about to get off." </p><p>"Okay?" </p><p>"You want me to do that on your shirt?" </p><p>His lips find my neck, biting down on the mark he was working on earlier. I tip my head back way too far, lost in his touch, lost in the way we're moving. Fuck. I need to get this shirt off.</p><p>"Would it make me messed up if I said yes?" </p><p>Or I don't need to get this shirt off. </p><p>I grab his jaw, pulling him off of my neck and getting his lips back on mine right before I'm coming with half of his name falling out in a moan and the other half lost somewhere in the heat of the room. He's right after me, thrusting up a few more times before he comes inside of me. I ride it out until I can't any longer, our kisses slowing down until both of my thumbs are brushing over his cheeks and we're exchanging well-satisfied looks. </p><p>"Missed that." I trace over his features with my fingers, my thumbs pulling at his bottom lip.</p><p>"Me too." </p><p>I make a mental note to not go as long as we did even if that was only a little over a week. </p><p>"Do you still have reading to do?" </p><p>"I do," I peck his lips before pulling off, falling on my back and actually unbuttoning the shirt this time because I am <em>not</em> sleeping in this. He gets up to clean up and get something to clean me up, a ritual that we've fallen into. He's back in bed moments later, wiping my skin clean and throwing the washcloth down onto the ground to deal with in the morning. "I think I'll just wake up earlier and finish it in the morning," I tell him once he's lying next to me. Both of us are on our backs now and staring up at the ceiling. </p><p>"Selfishly, that sounds like a good idea. I like falling asleep <em>with</em> you a lot better than <em>joining </em>you after you already are." </p><p>I smile and wait a couple of minutes in nice silence before I roll my head on the pillow to look at him. "H?" </p><p>"Yeah, babe?" He doesn't look back at me. </p><p>"What's going on?" </p><p class="p1">Harry drops his gaze down to the sheets, both of us now watching his fingers aimlessly pick at the thread. He furrows his brows like he doesn’t quite know what he’s about to say, or like whatever he’s going to say doesn’t feel like something he should.</p><p class="p1">“It’s, uh—“ His hand stops moving. “It’s tomorrow. My mom—Tomorrow is ten years.” Harry sighs after he says it, a long exhale coming from holding his breath.</p><p class="p1">Everything makes sense.</p><p class="p1">“Baby,” I say softly, reaching a hand over to brush over his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—“</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t expect you to. There’s nothing to apologize for.” He looks up to meet my gaze, and he looks sad. He’s looked sad all week but this is the human kind that comes with vulnerability and eye contact and like he could honestly cry. “With you being at school I just decided to throw myself in working more, coming home later. It’s what I used to do when I needed the distraction.”</p><p class="p1">“Does it still work?”</p><p class="p1">The words hanging in the brief quiet of the room tell me it doesn’t anymore.</p><p class="p1">Instead of answering directly, he asks, “You know how I tell you that it’ll get easier over time?”</p><p class="p1">“I do.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s true. I mean, I’m good at it now. Most of the time. But I didn’t—Ten years. That’s a long time, Lou. A bit monumental really. I’ve been reflecting a lot on that moment, and I keep going back like it’s on some sort of repeat in my mind.”</p><p class="p1">I reach my arm out, nodding in my direction. “Come here.”</p><p class="p1">He moves over easily, nuzzling his face into my neck as I wrap my arm around his shoulders. I press a lingering kiss into his hair, rubbing my fingers over his back.</p><p class="p1">“I haven’t known how to speak about it,” he says into my skin, his breath warm against my skin. “Not even with you.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s okay,” I answer, talking like I don’t want anyone else to hear us as if anyone could. This is a moment too intimate for even the four walls around us to hear.</p><p class="p1">“I expect you to be open and honest with me—“</p><p class="p1">“You are being open and honest with me,” I cut him off, stopping that train of thought dead in its tracks. “It’s okay, Harry.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay.”</p><p class="p1">It is okay. He doesn’t have to talk about it. I get it, too. The flashbacks, the incessant clutter of emotions and memories living inside of your brain and never turning off. Not when you’re studying, not when you’re sleeping, not when you’re on a date or you’re trying to get ready in the morning. I don’t know how many times I would tell myself that tomorrow would be a brand new day if I could just make it through the night, and the next day ended up being the exact fucking same.</p><p class="p1">I kiss the top of his head again, nose pressing into the almost completely dry hair. We made quick work, apparently.</p><p class="p1">Neither of us had each other in the beginning, but I know that we have each other now. I have him. I <em>have </em>him.</p><p class="p1">We both fall asleep with the lamps still on.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Liam follows me out into the hallway, and I untwist my water bottle top to shove underneath of the dispenser. It takes longer than usual for the sensor to take. Of course. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"What's up with you?" Liam asks, resting his back against the wall and looking at his hair in his cell phone camera. "You've been fidgety all class." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"It's just Harry." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I need to get home. God, I needed to get home ages ago. It's not like he and I were unaware of my cramped Thursday schedule and how it's currently after eight and I'm still not on the verge of leaving yet. These fucking attendance policies are impossible to escape, too. Unless you or someone in your family is dying, missing a class is enough to earn you letter grade consequences and permanent branding of cold calls. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Are you two fighting?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"No," I say quickly, pulling my water bottle back. "No, it's nothing like that. He's just going through something, and I really want to be home with him right now." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Then leave." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I almost choke on the water I'm drinking, pulling back before it splashes all over my shirt. "What?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Conley loves you," he shrugs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I don't think that'll have any impact--" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"You were already cold-called, Lou. Just talk to her." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"And tell her what?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I don't know." He finally shoves his hands back into his pocket. "I think it's at least worth a shot." His hand hits my shoulder then, jolting me forward and then walking towards the bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">I watch him walk away before peeking into the classroom. Professor Conley is sitting at her computer, typing furiously and stopping to rub at her neck, eyes flicking above the computer screen to see who's walking back into the room. We have a fifteen-minute break, but naturally, she likes everyone back way earlier. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Okay. Here goes it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Dr. Conley," I say carefully, stopping in front of her desk. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">She doesn't look up from her computer. "Mr. Tomlinson, is there something I can help you with?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I wanted to request an early leave from class today." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">That makes her lookup. "Why?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I have a family emergency." That's only a half-lie. For good measure, I add, "It's important that I be there sooner than later." </span>
</p><p class="p1">"You realize you won't be able to excuse yourself out of the courtroom during your internship next year." </p><p class="p1">"I do," I nod. "I also realize that this isn't a courtroom, and you've already cold-called me." </p><p class="p1">"What if I was planning on doing it again?" </p><p class="p1">"You never cold call twice." </p><p class="p1">"I don't know if I would say never." </p><p class="p1">"I would." </p><p class="p1">The exchange seems to please her, the friendly banter I give her in class and during our office hour discussions the reason why she has such an affinity to me. No one else challenges her, and I think she expects that out of us during every conversation or presentation. We are going to be real lawyers in approximately a year and a half, anyways. </p><p class="p1">"Come fully prepared next Thursday." </p><p class="p1">"I will." </p><p class="p1">I turn to grab my things from my seat, Liam back and fiddling with his wedding ring while he stares tiredly off into the distance. He does that just around this time during every meeting. </p><p class="p1">"You get kicked out of the program?" He asks, and I swear he isn't even blinking.</p><p class="p1">"No. I get to go home." I sling my bag over my shoulders, slapping him on the shoulder this time. "Get some sleep tonight, Li." He nods at me passively, and I leave him in a rush, still making sure to utter a quick "thank you" to Dr. Conley and ignoring the side glances from the others in my cohort as I walk out of the room. </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I unlock the door, walking inside quietly. My hook for my coat waits for me patiently, the spot that I usually leave my bag and kick-off of my shoes obviously a little dirtier and scuffed up than the rest of the floor. I remember when he first noticed the damage, pressing his hand to his temple and telling me through gritted teeth it was okay and then two hours later mentioning that he makes an effort to keep everything in here in pristine condition. </p><p class="p1">Too bad I caught him telling maintenance to leave it when they came the next week, and too bad I caught him smiling to himself while he looked down at the mark on his way out of the door the week after that. I'd never tell him, of course. That would just kill the thrill of knowing his secret. </p><p class="p1">The penthouse is still, Phillip leaving only the lights under the cabinets on after his leave. I run my hands under the warm water coming out of the faucet, the sweet smell of rose water--the soap of the week, apparently--fill my nose. My eyes drift over to the soft glow coming from a few rooms away. I know exactly where to find him. </p><p class="p1">Harry's sitting in one of the chairs near the window in the back, a cigar burning in between his fingers. There's a fire burning, the crackling of the wood the only sound filling the room. Two empty glasses rest on the tray with the bottle of liquor on top. He hasn't gotten to that part of his evening yet. </p><p class="p1">"Harry," I say, and it almost feels like I shouldn't have, like there's an intentional hush I just got through. </p><p class="p1">He perks up, looking over his shoulder but not completely over at me. "You're home early." </p><p class="p1">"I am. Don't have to be, though. If you would rather be alone that's okay, too. I just wanted to be here in case you needed me." </p><p class="p1">"I wouldn't rather be," he says simply, and that settles it. "Let me just..." He puts the cigar on the ashtray on the table nearby, turning around, and he looks exactly how I would expect him to: disheveled, a simple t-shirt on and half-tucked into the sweatpants that I recognize as an older pair of mine always too big for me that I passed along some time ago. I watch him grab a chair and sitting it next to his and then walking over to the humidor to grab another cigar. "You don't have to light this if you don't want to," he tells me while he's opening the cabinet down below and looking for something else, "but I do want you to have a drink with me. It's about that time." </p><p class="p1">Harry produces a third glass, setting it down on the table as he untwists the cap to the bottle. He fills all of the glasses up halfway, turning to face me with a look that tells me I can come and grab it. </p><p class="p1">"What are we drinking?" I ask out of sheer curiosity and an attempt to get to know this part of him. </p><p class="p1">"This is Jameson 12. Simple. My father liked to drink the expensive stuff, but she just liked this. I remember going into liquor stores with her dressed to the nines, and she would always make fun of the faces of the cashiers as she bought this with her Platinum card." I chuckle with him at the thought, grabbing my drink and heading back over to the chairs he set out for us. An unwrapped cigar and the second glass rests in the middle of us on the table. "What'd your mom drink?" </p><p class="p1">"She was big into wine. The super-cheap kinds, too, with so much sugar you're almost guaranteed to have a headache." </p><p class="p1">"Oh god," Harry says, making a face like he can taste it. "I know exactly what you're talking about. One of Gemma's best friends had an older brother who could buy alcohol, and that's all she would sneak into the house during their sleepovers. Tasted like a crushed-up Smartie with alcohol in it." </p><p class="p1">"Did you hang out with them during their sleepovers?" </p><p class="p1">"Of course I did," he smiles, looking down at his glass. He still hasn't taken a drink, so I haven't either. "That was during the time period Gems and I were really close. Best friends, even. Plus, she was the first person I told I was gay, and then by extension all of her friends knew and no one viewed me as a threat so they always wanted me around." </p><p class="p1">"Naturally," I say adoringly. "Who wouldn't want you around?" </p><p class="p1">I catch his slight blush even without him looking at me, and then looking out of the window. He re-lights his cigar with a match, offering to light mine too. I've never been big into cigars, but tonight I will be. I try to remember how to smoke it properly after it's lit, holding the smoke in my mouth to absorb the flavor and then blowing it out into the room. </p><p class="p1">"Gemma sent me something today." </p><p class="p1">"Oh?" I didn't know they were talking, but it's good that they are today. </p><p class="p1">"I haven't watched it yet, but I think it's a video. I wanted to watch it with you." </p><p class="p1">A feeling of soothing warmth overwhelms my body, and I try to settle into it, this feeling of completeness. "Let's watch it then." </p><p class="p1">He sets his glass down on the table as I take another hit of the cigar, fishing for his phone in one of his pockets. He comes up empty only because it's actually on the bookshelf within arms reach if he stretches enough, and I watch him scroll through his texts until he clicks on what I assume is the thread with Gemma. He hasn't even responded to the video yet, and her caption on it just reads <em>I found this while I was going through a couple of things during my move. Had to buy some crazy VCR to DVD conversion machine on Amazon to watch it. I thought you might want it today. I love you, little brother. </em></p><p class="p1">When he presses play, a recording of a television screen comes up. Gemma's trying to steady her hands it seems as she's making aggravated noises while she attempts to hit play according to the blurred remote in the bottom corner. It focuses once she does, the angle changing as she sits on the couch. </p><p class="p1">It's Christmas. That's apparent by the shot of the Christmas tree fully decorated in the corner of their huge living room. The ceilings are high, windows just as large as the ones inside of his penthouse. I can see their father's more gothic style as she called it during her dinner here in the various decorations in the camera shots, but I mainly focus on the softness of the lights around the tree, and then on his mother's voice. </p><p class="p1"><em>"</em>I just woke up the kids," she says in a hushed tone behind the camera, "so it should be any minute now." </p><p class="p1">"Her name is Anne, by the way. I don't think I ever told you that." I glance over at Harry as she speaks, his eyes glued to the phone screen like he's losing himself in the memory. </p><p class="p1">The sound of laugher in the distance enters through the speakers, his mom angeling the camera towards the hallway. Within seconds, Gemma and Harry in very small form appear at the doorway in matching Christmas pajamas, Gemma with her hair in messy pigtails, and Harry smiling without one of his front teeth. </p><p class="p1">"Oh my god," I can't help but say at tiny Harry. </p><p class="p1">"God, that was a look, wasn't it?" Harry says shyly. </p><p class="p1">"You're adorable." </p><p class="p1">"Yeah, yeah," he brushes off, his smaller voice replacing his mid-twenty one. </p><p class="p1">"Mom, are we going to open presents now?" </p><p class="p1">"Absolutely, sweetheart." </p><p class="p1">"I think one of them looks like a Dreamhouse," Gemma says, bouncing up onto her tiptoes the entire way to the tree. "Are we going to wait for Dad?" </p><p class="p1">"Your father had a late night, so I think it'll just be the three of us this morning." </p><p class="p1">I notice how unphased they both are at their father sleeping through Christmas morning, but I suppose that's just a sign of the lifestyle. Not one that I would want for any of my future kids, that's for sure. </p><p class="p1">"What should we open first?" Small Harry asks, rubbing sleepily at his eyelids yet his entire body humming with excitement even through the old video camera. </p><p class="p1">"Let's do your stockings first, darling." </p><p class="p1">Gemma and Harry both sit down with their legs crossed as they dig through their presents, coming up with plenty of candy each and a check that his mom tells them is for their savings. My mom used to do the same thing for us. </p><p class="p1">"What I wouldn't give to be this close with her again," Harry says reflectively, his eyes flickering back and forth as their younger forms playfully toss the wrapping paper at each other as their mother laughs. </p><p class="p1">I rest a hand over his forearm, gently scratching over his skin. "Maybe one day."</p><p class="p1">He doesn't answer, engulfed by the two of them tearing through presents on the phone screen. Gemma does get the Dreamhouse and approximately a billion accessories that come with it. Harry gets a massive collection of Legos, and a couple of figurines that he exclaims about. It's an impressive collection already, and they seem to have another half of the pile left. </p><p class="p1">"Oh no," his mom says quietly into the microphone. "I think the battery might die." </p><p class="p1">"Wait," Harry announces, bouncing up and running over to her, placing his small hands on her knees. "Don't turn it off yet. We should show them how we're wearing matching pajamas too." </p><p class="p1">She laughs sweetly, a hand appearing to run through his hair. "Okay, sweetheart." </p><p class="p1">The camera shakily moves through the hallway, Gemma's footsteps closely behind them. They work their way down a hallway until they're in front of a mirror, and his mom lifts the camera so they're all revealed. Gemma pulls down her shirt to show they're wearing the same one, Harry wrapping himself around her leg and talking about how they're wearing the same pants too.</p><p class="p1">It's clear the two of them have a bond as she smiles especially down at him, tussling his hair and then smoothing it back off of his forehead. His curls were way more prominent than they are now, bouncing cutely whenever he moves his head. </p><p class="p1">"Can they see, mommy?" He asks, blinking up at her. </p><p class="p1">"They can see, Harry," she replies. "Say Merry Christmas, you two." </p><p class="p1">"Merry Christmas!" They both exclaim, and she laughs, holding the camera higher up. </p><p class="p1">"Merry Christmas," she says like she means for this to fall into their hands one day. "I love you both so much." </p><p class="p1">Then the video stops. </p><p class="p1">"I remember that Christmas," Harry says after staring down at the now black screen. I bring my hand up to his cheek like he has many times for me, wiping at a tear falling in a straight path down his face. He sniffles, looking over at me. "She would've absolutely loved you." </p><p class="p1">"I think I would've absolutely loved her, too." I place both hands on his face now, leaning forward enough to kiss his forehead. </p><p class="p1">“And your mom—I already told you I think they would’ve loved each other.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, yeah,” I agree. “Mine would’ve loved her so much she would make her drink shitty sweet wine.”</p><p class="p1">“Then they’d chase it down with this whiskey.”</p><p class="p1">“I think they’d have dates without us involved.”</p><p class="p1">“Anne Styles flying all the way to Denver.”</p><p class="p1">“Jay Tomlinson flying all the way to New York City and not even telling her son she’s visiting.”</p><p class="p1">“Because clearly she’s not here for you.”</p><p class="p1">“Just to exchange baby pictures with your mom.”</p><p class="p1">He laughs at that, the sound cutting through the tears. He wipes at his cheeks with the backs of his hands, wiping those on his sweats as he takes a deep breath. It’s shaky, and I know there’s probably a long night ahead of him and us but at least I got him to smile. I’d do just about anything for that.</p><p class="p1">We’re letting the cigars burn out, the alcohol still untouched. Harry looks from me to the window straight ahead. The city looks so peaceful right now.</p><p class="p1">“Lou?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah?”</p><p class="p1">“Do you think she’d be proud of me?”</p><p class="p1">My heart drops. “Oh, baby,” I reply soothingly, resting my hand on top of his. “She’d be so proud of you. She <em>is</em> proud of you.”</p><p class="p1">“I just want to be enough. Prove that all that time she spent raising us wasn’t for nothing.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, I’m looking at the product right now, and he’s pretty damn great.”</p><p class="p1">His mouth curls up in a half-smile, staring off for just a little longer before turning to grab his drink. I do the same, mimicking his motions so we’re both holding the drink up.</p><p class="p1">“To you, Mom,” he says simply, raising it a little higher and then bringing the glass down to take a sip. The whiskey hits my throat with a pleasant burn, the butterscotch flavor staining my tongue. Anne has amazing taste.</p><p class="p1">I don’t speak anymore unless he does, and he doesn’t. I would sit in the silence forever with him if that’s what he wanted.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Harry made me go to bed earlier than I wanted to last night. He knows I have the early morning seminar I dread more than anything and refused to let me stay up as long as he did. It's not really like him making me did much of anything. I was kept awake by his tossing and turning and his touching and cuddling into me. I have no complaints, but it does have me looking like a zombie as I walk my way into the bathroom. </p><p class="p1">He's finally fell asleep by the time my alarm went off, and I carefully moved his arm from around my waist against every instinct in my body to stay. He didn't even stir and continues not to stir even through my morning routine. </p><p class="p1">I brush my teeth, run some cold water over my face, crank the shower to the hottest possible without burning my skin and try to coordinate getting ready without falling asleep standing up. I manage to, toweling off my hair, stepping on my tiptoes to the closet to put on something simple. I don't really care about fashion today, and Harry would probably scoff at what I'm wearing out, but I think jeans and a simple Columbia hoodie will do the trick. Liam's outfit I'm sure will compensate for my lack of style. </p><p class="p1">Harry shifts a little when I walk back in to spray cologne, making me stop dead in my tracks until he's settled again. His hair is matted down to his forehead, his cheeks a soft pink with one hand pressed to one of them and the other probably resting on his stomach under his shirt. He's so easy to admire. </p><p class="p1">I gingerly press a kiss to his forehead, smoothing back his hair. I whisper a quick, "I love you," and then rub a hand over his cheek before disappearing out of our room and heading down the stairs. </p><p class="p1">Phillip is already cooking breakfast. I can smell it the moment I hit the foyer and do a quick stretch. The early morning sun pours in through the windows, giving everything a gorgeous orange glow. </p><p class="p1">"Morning, Phillip," I say sleepily, plopping down at one of the stools and collapsing down onto my forearms. </p><p class="p1">"Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson," he says back, turning off the stove. I listen to him plate my sandwich. "Breakfast for you. I take it Mr. Styles is still sleeping?" </p><p class="p1">"Still sleeping," I agree, looking up and thanking him for the heavenly food still steaming on the plate. "I think I'll text Violet and ask her not to come by for a while. We had a long night." </p><p class="p1">"Do you want me to prepare him something?" </p><p class="p1">"Maybe just his usual," I say before taking a bite and basically moaning at how good it tastes right now. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it." </p><p class="p1">"Yes, sir." Phillip runs a sponge over the counter and then dumps the dishes into the sink. "I'll make it for him in an hour or so that way it's still relatively warm. I have to make a list to run down to the markets anyway to prepare the meals this week. Anything in particular on your mind?" </p><p class="p1">I pause to think, my chewing slowing down. "Maybe lobster? I've had a bit of a craving for bisque." </p><p class="p1">"Lobster it is," he nods, shoving his hands into the water to clean. It suddenly reminds me that we probably left the glasses in the den last night. </p><p class="p1">"Oh, Phillip, I think there might be a couple more dishes. Let me go..." I trail off, standing up from the counter to walk into the room. It still smells like fading cigar smoke, but everything is back into place--the chairs, the ashtray, the end tables, the liquor bottle, and the glasses. </p><p class="p1">The glasses. </p><p class="p1">My eyes fall on them sitting by the tray, and I approach the table slowly. Harry must've washed up last night and put everything back into place, but the glasses. My fingers run over each of them just to make sure I'm counting correctly. </p><p class="p1">Where there was once two there are now three. </p><p class="p1">Three glasses sitting on the tray like they've always been there right next to the bottle that's also always been there. </p><p class="p1">"Mr. Tomlinson," Phillip calls from the distance. "Did you find the dishes?" </p><p class="p1">"Turns out there aren't any," I answer, his question enough motivation to pull away and go back to the kitchen. </p><p class="p1">"Do you want to take that to go?" He asks me, knowing the time even before I do. I nod, letting him hand me the foil to wrap up the sandwich at the same time my phone starts to ring in my back pocket. </p><p class="p1">I fish for it in the middle of pulling out the foil, pressing the phone to my ear between my face and my shoulder. </p><p class="p1">"What's up?" </p><p class="p1">"I'm getting coffee." Liam sounds dead on the other line, the sound of a cafe in the background. I laugh a little at his crackling voice. "I'm calling to ask if you also want me to get you a coffee?" </p><p class="p1">"That'd be good, yeah." </p><p class="p1">"Okay. Espresso shots?" </p><p class="p1">"I'll get whatever you're getting." I'm not picky, and Liam normally has good taste in coffee. </p><p class="p1">"You got it, chief," he says, hanging up before even saying goodbye. </p><p class="p1">A text from Niall sits on the notification screen after I close the phone app that lets me know he's close by. Phillip pays no attention to my sudden stress, just takes the foil back and continues with his morning routine. Harry's still asleep upstairs, Liam's apparently getting me a coffee, Niall will be here soon, my bag is somewhere in this apartment. Nothing about this is abnormal. </p><p class="p1">Besides the three glasses sitting rooms away from me probably wondering why I stared at them like they were foreign bodies. </p><p class="p1">So this is love. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OKAY i want to do one shots for this after the epilogue and if there's anything you want to see pls drop it in the comments &lt;3 adore you guys</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>H and L make another super important decision... or decision(s)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so... this is it which is absolutely INSANE </p><p>i've honestly been working on this idea for this last closing chapter for some time, and i'm sorry that it took so long but i honestly just wanted it to be perfect. </p><p>i seriously appreciate every single one of you who have taken the time to read this, leave me comments and feedback, give the story kudos, bookmark, subscribe, etc., i was not expecting this sort of response at all but i'm so happy you all enjoyed it</p><p>thank you x103</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“God, it’s been a day,” I announce when I walk into the living room, Harry sitting cross-legged on the couch with a headband in and a face mask plastered on. It’s one of the ones you can leave on for as long as you want. The two of us have gotten into self-care lately. Mainly because we’ve both been so stressed out with all of the life changes recently that we’re breaking out again.</p><p class="p1">“You want some ramen?” Harry asks, looking at me over his shoulder while I fiddle with my books stored underneath the coffee table. The real bar exam doesn’t give two shits about how busy I was. “Phillip made some.”</p><p class="p1">“Fuck, that sounds good.”</p><p class="p1">“Go get some.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” I nod, straining to put a couple of the study workbooks on the coffee table. He watches me with a smile, and I realize that he also has a bowl of ramen in his lap, chopsticks wrapping around a few noodles while he lifts it up to his face. “I didn’t even notice you were eating.”</p><p class="p1">“It always takes you about twenty minutes to unwind from your internship,” he notes, pointing them at me and then slurping his noodles.</p><p class="p1">I shake my head, kissing him quickly before padding my way into the kitchen. When I open the fridge, there’s a nice bowl with my name on it sitting on the middle shelf. It won’t be the same, but it’ll still be good. I take it out, carefully placing it in the microwave and leaning back against the counter as I wait.</p><p class="p1">The fridge has a calendar stuck on it with a magnet from one of the trips we took together, and I thrust myself off of the counter to run my finger along next week. There’s a few things labeled—one of my later class meetings, Harry’s day trip to Philadelphia, Gigi and Kendall’s one-year wedding anniversary on Saturday night.</p><p class="p1">“Shit, Harry,” I call from the kitchen. “We need to get a gift for Gi and Ken.”</p><p class="p1">“Already ahead of you, baby. I bought a bottle of Ruinart Blanc de Blancs, and I figured we could give them two matching glasses and engrave their wedding date and names on them.”</p><p class="p1">I tap on the circle with their names written in when the microwave goes off, collecting my bowl of ramen and heading back into the living room.</p><p class="p1">“How romantic,” I hum, plopping down on the opposite of the couch so I can stretch my legs out.</p><p class="p1">He scoots closer to me, placing my feet in his lap and setting his bowl of ramen onto the coffee table. His hands absently rub at my shins. “You know me.”</p><p class="p1">“I do.”</p><p class="p1">I really do. The longer we’ve been together, the more romantic he’s become. Not the big gestures, of course. He knows I would rather dive off of the balcony into oncoming traffic than deal with the humiliation of something way over the top, so he keeps it simple.</p><p class="p1">I think of my personal favorites while I watch him scratch at my legs, his posture nearly perfect even as he stares at the television screen ahead. It’s probably some cheesy reality show Kendall showed him while he waits for her to finish tailoring various clothes to show him. They’ve become pretty close, and I can’t say that I’m unhappy about it. Something about the way he interacts with my friends makes me feel good, makes me regret ever having doubts that this would work the way that it has.</p><p class="p1">There was the time in Amsterdam in the middle of winter, huddling close during a canal cruise with something warm in our hands as we watched the Light Festival. Then there was the quick weekend vacation to the vineyard in Napa, California, sipping wine fresh off the vine and having all of the slow sex I could ask for with the French doors letting in the breeze. Fuck, the trip to Madrid for our two-year anniversary, New Years in a cabin in Maine during one of the biggest snowstorms.</p><p class="p1">But then there are all of the small things that I carry with me. The random little notes and reminders and texts full of sweet encouraging words I get when I’m stressed about exams and my internship and wondering why I even wanted to do this in the first place. Him waking up early because I’ve been awake studying all night and the least he could do is drag me out to look at the sunset over the city. That stupid pottery class we tried when we were going through a phase of wanting to try different things for date night, and we made each other something that resembled a mug that we have sitting out in his room.</p><p class="p1">Us just sitting here like this.</p><p class="p1">“God, these kids are fucking outrageous on this show,” he says with disappointment in his voice, firmly shaking his head. I turn to see what he’s watching, and I was right. It is some stupid reality show following a rich family around in their house that honestly looks exactly like the penthouse we’re sitting in right now. “I bet you I would have ended up like this if my father did the parenting and not my mom.”</p><p class="p1">“I would like to think you would have more sense.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s only because you know me now after my <em>mother</em> raised me.” Harry’s hand squeezes the top of my foot. “She kept us humble. I would hate to see what I would’ve become if I was submerged in this lifestyle like he was. I don’t think I ever heard him even passively thank anyone who worked around our house.”</p><p class="p1">“I still can’t believe you grew up like that. Never having chores,” I suck a noodle off of my chopstick, almost moaning at how good it tastes and feels after my long day, “never having to cut back on take out because the bills are piling up.”</p><p class="p1">“Sometimes I wish I would’ve had that life. I love when we go home to visit your family.”</p><p class="p1">They love Harry I swear more than I do sometimes. We try to make it back at least three times a year, and Harry’s flown them out here twice now. Lottie started fashion school last year, and she and Harry talk about all of the intricacies of that—what designers are currently popular, what the projected looks will be. The twins just like to make him watch movies and do his makeup like they’re having a slumber party. He helps my father with shoveling and gardening and showing him how to tailor his own suits (because apparently he’s actually learned how to do that over the years of watching others do his).</p><p class="p1">It’s nice to settle into bed with him in my old room, cuddling almost on top of each other because my bed was never intended for two people, listening to him breathe soundly like that’s his home too. He deserves that.</p><p class="p1">“We should try and go for Christmas this year. If you want to, of course.”</p><p class="p1">“Would love to,” he says without even thinking about it and then juts his chin out towards the television. “Do you want any?”</p><p class="p1">“Want any what?”</p><p class="p1">“Kids.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh.” I twirl around some more noddles, and add a bit of the egg Phillip added. “Yeah, I think I do. Do you?” We’ve never had that conversation probably because it always seemed like the kind of serious we weren’t yet. Three years later we just might be.</p><p class="p1">“I used to be sure that I didn’t want any,” he starts, rolling his head along the back of the couch to look at me. “My grandfather was just as bad as my father, so I felt like I would inherit that and pass it down to my kid and who wants that?”</p><p class="p1">“You’re nothing like your father.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe,” he shrugs, and it’s a battle I know I won’t win tonight so I just let it hang there. “You make me want kids, though.”</p><p class="p1">“Do I?” I ask, amused and putting my half-empty bowl on the table next to his. I can eat the rest of it later, but right now I want to crawl into his lap so I do. His hands rest on my hips, softly rubbing circles over my hipbones. I wrap my arms around his neck, playing with the curls on the back of his head.</p><p class="p1">“You do. I know for a fact you’d be an amazing dad. Probably would be the one they’d go to when they want a midnight snack.”</p><p class="p1">“Absolutely not,” I laugh. “That’d be all you. Especially if we had a little girl. She’d have you wrapped around your finger.”</p><p class="p1">“Kind of like how I’m wrapped around yours?” Harry’s hands rub up my back as he raises his eyebrow in a way that tells me the answer to that question is no secret.”</p><p class="p1">“Exactly like that,” I tease, giving two pecks on his lips and then a third that evolves into a slower, deeper kiss that we let linger for a minute before I speak again. “What about names?”</p><p class="p1">“I’ve never thought about names.”</p><p class="p1">“Bullshit. Everyone’s thought about names.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” he sighs, tipping his head back against the couch while he thinks about this. I take the opportunity to lazily mouth at his neck, hearing the smile in his voice as he slips a hand underneath my t-shirt to feel at my skin. “I think I like the name Spencer if we had a boy.”</p><p class="p1">“I like Spencer. We could call him Spence.”</p><p class="p1">“Exactly,” Harry hums in agreement. “What about Stephanie for a girl? Could keep the ‘S’ theme going.”</p><p class="p1">“Stephanie?” I raise my eyebrows. “No fucking way are we naming our daughter Stephanie.”</p><p class="p1">“What’s wrong with Stephanie?”</p><p class="p1">“The name of every high school cheerleader villain in the history of time.” He rolls his eyes. “What about something cute and simple like Lily?”</p><p class="p1">“Lily,” Harry repeats like he’s testing out the way it sounds. “That’s really freaking adorable.”</p><p class="p1">“Could call her Lil.”</p><p class="p1">“Lil and Spence.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sold. We’re so making this happen one day.”</p><p class="p1">“Having some babies with my baby,” he practically coos, kissing me despite the fact my mouth is stuck open in a rather obnoxious laugh.</p><p class="p1">I put both of my hands on his face to shove him away, but he only connects his lips to my throat this time, holding me steady while the force knocks me back a little bit.</p><p class="p1">“If we did have babies,” I continue once he’s finished with his attack and we’re both settled on the couch again, “I wouldn’t want to have them here. I know you grew up in the city, but I didn’t, and I just don’t think it’s conducive. It’s too loud, too dangerous. I’d want them to have some sort of normalcy like a backyard with a swing set and a garage they could keep their bikes in.”</p><p class="p1">“I think that’d be a good call.”</p><p class="p1">“A sweet suburban dream.”</p><p class="p1">“The sweetest,” Harry says, lips pressed to mine again and my back hitting the couch before I could even register him turning us around. We laugh into it, my legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer while his arms are bracketing me in. “I’ll have to start looking for houses.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re ridiculous.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” he sighs, “but you love it.”</p><p class="p1">I do.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The size of these classes has dwindled over the years; Liam and I used to be just two men in the midst of forty or fifty others, and now we’re sitting in the middle row with exactly ten including us.</p><p class="p1">Our professor is lecturing about a complicated legal process, and Liam’s half paying attention, half browsing aimlessly on his laptop. My phone is face down on the table, my laptop open with a relatively blank word document open meant for my notes. I still have yet to understand why they thought it a good idea to give already dying law students late evening seminars at the tail end of the week.</p><p class="p1">In the middle of a new section, my phone dings, and I shyly apologize to the professor who ever so slightly turns his head and says, “Silence your cell phones, please. I thought we made that rule clear.”</p><p class="p1">Liam laughs silently at me, shoving into my with his shoulder. I roll my eyes, looking down at my phone under the table to see it’s a text notification from Harry. That’s enough to warrant me digging my messages app from the depths of my computer, letting it rest on the dock again after hiding it for productivity purposes.</p><p class="p1">It’s nothing but a link that I click that takes me to a Zillow site for <a href="https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/41-Gin-Ln-Southampton-NY-11968/32717437_zpid/"><span class="s1">a house</span></a> somewhere in Southampton, New York. I take a drink of water as I’m waiting for the images to load and nearly choking when I do.</p><p class="p1">Quickly, I type back, <em>what is this? </em></p><p class="p1">
  <b><em>This could be our forever home</em>.</b>
</p><p class="p1">I shake my head, fingers moving fast on the keys before I press send on my <em>okay it’s gorgeous but it’s also millions of dollars and has 8 bathrooms? kind of excessive?</em></p><p class="p1">
  <b> <em>It’s not like I don’t have the cash.</em> </b>
</p><p class="p1"><em>but that much? </em>I wait a minute before I add, <em>don’t answer that </em>because honestly there’s still sometimes I forget how casually he can dole it out, the kind of life he created for himself that I get to be a part of with the private jets and the spontaneous vacations and the people that wander in and out of his house, are at his beckoned call at the office.</p><p class="p1">
  <b> <em>Okay, I won’t answer that. What about </em></b>
  <span class="s1"><a href="https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/77-Seascape-Ln-Sagaponack-NY-11962/248848009_zpid/"><b><em>this</em></b></a> </span>
  <b><em>one?</em> </b>
</p><p class="p1">I squint at the picture, chewing on my bottom lip while I click through the gallery. It’s far too modern, way too much light wood like it’s trying to look like a cabin without actually being a cabin.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>i don’t like that at all</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <b>That looks just like our place now.</b> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><em>to be fair i had no say in our place now and it fits you and looks sharp sure but if we’re going to do this let’s do it right </em> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <b>So, I take it that means </b><span class="s1"><a href="https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/851-Halsey-Ln-Bridgehampton-NY-11976/32729074_zpid/">this</a> </span></em>
  <b><em>one is out of the picture, too?</em>  </b>
</p><p class="p1">“What are you looking at over there?” Liam leans over to whisper, surveying my screen. “House hunting?”</p><p class="p1">I look over at the professor with his back turned and scribbling things on the board in chalk before I give myself permission to look at Liam who’s giving me the smuggest grin.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, come off of it,” I say with a roll of my eyes, “but yes. Harry’s sending me all of these absurd houses.”</p><p class="p1">Liam leans a little closer, and I shove my computer over a bit so he doesn’t look so obvious. Class is almost over, anyway, but there’s no need to be the reason Dr. Nixon turns around to give us a lecture on respect and paying attention and how that’ll make us bad lawyers one day.</p><p class="p1">“Does that say thirteen million dollars?”</p><p class="p1">“It does say thirteen million dollars, and it's not happening. Totally not my style.”</p><p class="p1">The professor turns around then in response to someone in the front row asking a question, and he looks annoyed enough as he bends over his desk to explain the answer that I don’t think he’ll pay even the slightest bit of attention to Liam and I up here.</p><p class="p1">“Isn’t Bridgehampton near Long Island, too?”</p><p class="p1">“Probably.”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll be closer to Nat and I when we move to the Hamptons after graduation.”</p><p class="p1">“Did you finally make a decision about that?”</p><p class="p1">The question and answer stops below us, and Dr. Nixon condescendingly reminds everyone to actually do the reading so he can avoid wasting his time on whatever question was just asked before starting to erase the board. That’s his way of telling us class is over.</p><p class="p1">“We did,” Liam smiles, talking at a normal volume. “We’re touring a few places this weekend.”</p><p class="p1">“Congratulations,” I smile back, gripping his shoulder before giving it a firm, happy pat. “I’m happy you’re happy.”</p><p class="p1">“Thanks, Lou.” He slings his bag over his shoulders, telling me that he and Natalie have dinner plans so he can’t stick around for too long. “Make sure to send me which one you’re thinking of going with, though.”</p><p class="p1">I nod, waiting for him to walk away before I look back at my phone.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>absolutely not! that looks sterile or something. think family home</em>
</p><p class="p1">My own bag hangs heavily from my shoulders, and I grunt under the weight of it. I tell Dr. Nixon to have a good night on my way out even though something in me tells me he probably has one. Me, on the other hand, probably will. I get to go home to Harry who’s likely sitting in bed with his knees bent up and his laptop sitting almost on his stomach while he’s scrolling through all of these Zillow listings. I’ll interrupt it, crawl into his lap after I wash up, maybe give him a blow job if he’s up for it, and then I’ll mold into him and fall asleep.</p><p class="p1">Tomorrow, we’ll simply wake up and repeat except maybe we’ll actually have sex or he’ll eat me out and maybe we’ll go out for dinner and stay up past our bedtimes watching stupid romcoms in the living room.</p><p class="p1">It still catches me off guard how much I love him.</p><p class="p1">I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket as I’m descending the stairs to meet Niall a little down the street.</p><p class="p1"><b> <em>We have very different definitions of a family home, but I think I know what you mean. Something like </em> </b> <a href="https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/136-Bishops-Ln-Southampton-NY-11968/32715597_zpid/"> <span class="s1"> <b> <em>this</em> </b> </span> </a> <b> <em>?</em>  </b></p><p class="p1">That’s a little better, looks kind of like somewhere I wouldn’t mind calling home. Something about it is still just a little too extravagant like we’d have a nanny instead of raising our kids—a conversation that we should probably have considering the structure of Harry’s upbringing and also the bustle of my starting career and his existing one. I like the way house looks, the pool in the backyard. That’s a start.</p><p class="p1"><em>better but the price is a little insane along with the fact it has eleven bathrooms and is almost 10,000 square feet </em> </p><p class="p1">
  <b> <em>Minor technicalities, baby.</em>  </b>
</p><p class="p1">I laugh under my breath, finding Niall’s car parked alongside the road. I knock on the passenger seat window when I see him scrolling on his phone, and he flips me off after his head nearly hits the ceiling from being startled so much. He pretends like he won’t unlock the doors for me, and I pretend I’ll simply walk home, which Harry would have a fit about regardless of who’s driving me. At that, Niall leans across the way and presses the unlock button to push the door open.</p><p class="p1">“Bad night, Ni?” I ask with a smirk, sinking into the seat.</p><p class="p1">He glares at me and then looks into the side mirrors before pulling carefully out of the spot. “How was class?”</p><p class="p1">“Boring,” I sigh, reopening my message thread with Harry. “Thanks for picking me up after these things, by the way. I know it probably cuts through dinner.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s no matter,” he shrugs. “With Hannah and Olivia both out of the house, Lucia and I don’t bother with an official dinner time anymore. You’re not taking away from anything.”</p><p class="p1">“You’d tell me?” There are times I worry he wouldn’t, and I could be taking away from his time with his family. I know how important it is to be there when everyone’s still healthy and now much I regretted it when everyone was not.</p><p class="p1">“I’d tell you,” Niall nods, giving me a reassuring smile that I choose to trust.</p><p class="p1">I look back down at my phone, noticing that Harry sent two more links in my brief absence.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><a href="https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/86-Post-Ln-Southampton-NY-11968/32717396_zpid/">One</a></span> has a weird layout but a gorgeous backyard, and the <a href="https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/116-Spring-Pond-Ln-Southampton-NY-11968/32733702_zpid/"><span class="s1">other</span></a> looking out of left field compared to the others he’s sent. They’re getting there, but something’s still missing. There has to be a way to find a happy medium between the two of us so it doesn’t just seem like his needs don’t matter in this regard. I want it to be someplace we both love. That has to be possible.</p><p class="p1"><em>those are getting somewhere</em>, I type first and send before adding, <em>Ni just picked me up so i’ll be home soon. we can look some more together?</em></p><p class="p1">I’m only looking out of the window at the passing lights of the city for a moment before my phone vibrates one more time.</p><p class="p1">
  <b> <em>See you soon, handsome. I look forward to it.</em> </b>
</p><p class="p1">
  <b> <em>***</em> </b>
</p><p class="p1">“Will you grab my laptop off the dresser, baby?” Harry’s voice carries into the bathroom where I’m have leaned over to clean off my stomach. We did even more expected—him having a nice dinner prepared when I arrived home, seducing me upstairs, fucking me slow and soft into the mattress before coming over my chest and my stomach.</p><p class="p1">I hum a yes, rinsing off the washcloth and then draping it over the edge of the hamper we use for the towels. Mainly towels like this so we don’t ruin our good clothes but Violet doesn’t have to know that when she organizes our laundry for the week. Maybe I could just add that to the list of more domestic tasks I’ve taken up since I’ve moved in and avoid her casual comments about how we go through so many linens in a week.</p><p class="p1">Harry’s propped up by a pillow behind his back, his legs spread and waiting for me to scoot in between them. He lazily smiles at me, eyes always looking up and down my body. There are times it makes me shy to be this naked in front of him while he’s watching me so closely and this is one. It’s almost like I can’t believe that out of all the men he could’ve had at the snap of a finger, he chose me. Every day he chooses me.</p><p class="p1">I pull on a pair of boxers that look like his from the floor because I know he’ll probably put this laptop on my lap and the coldness of the metal will be enough to make me recoil away. He pouts, but he’ll deal.</p><p class="p1">I hand him the laptop, crawling into bed with him and pressing my back to his chest. My hands play with the hair on his legs, brushing through it, tugging on it. Every part of him deserves attention.</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” Harry huffs out, placing the laptop exactly where I thought he would. It’s already open to a housing website, and he clicks around a couple of times before landing on <a href="https://outeast.com/properties/sales/384394"><span class="s1">one</span></a> tucked away in his favorites. “What do you think of this one? I tried a different location, and this one has features that we’d both love. The ones in the neighborhood look similar, all new constructions. The price isn’t crazy, in my opinion, but if that’s a serious issue for you we can look somewhere outside of Long Island.” He’s talking as he scrolls through the pictures at an even pace, and his words are warm, covering me with a blanket of sounds and syllables that I’m barely listening to because this is it. Just like that. “The Hamptons are always an option but they’re a bit further out from the city and one of us will probably still have to commute in every now and then. Or we could sell the building. It’s fully renovated now—”</p><p class="p1">“No, no,” I shake my head. “We’re keeping the building. It’s not like we’re moving right now anyway.”</p><p class="p1">“We could sooner than later.”</p><p class="p1">I swallow, moving his hand away to go back through the pictures. Fuck, it’s gorgeous. It’s an even combination of a family home and Harry’s modernism, the design and floor plan absolutely flawless. I’m starting to picture what kind of furniture would fit in there, where we could put the swing set in the back, how nice it would be to walk through the front door and it actually is mine.</p><p class="p1">My heart rate speeds up. Just say it, Louis.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to do this before we’re married.”</p><p class="p1">Harry presses a kiss to the top of my head and rests his chin there like he was expecting a comment like that. “Okay.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s it?”</p><p class="p1">“Well,” he shifts slightly, “I figure it is almost a given we’d be getting married.”</p><p class="p1">I laugh slightly. “Oh, is it now? We’ve never talked about it.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” he says again slower this time. “How about this: I know that I want to marry you, and I know that I want to have your babies.”</p><p class="p1">“Dork,” I say with a solid elbow to his ribs that makes him laugh. “That’s not even possible.”</p><p class="p1">“A shame, isn’t it?” Another kiss to the top of my head that lingers while he’s breathing in the way I smell. “In all seriousness, baby, I know that I want to be with you for the rest of my life, so I don’t really see it going any other way than you and I growing old together on the porch of maybe this house or any other. Could be a wooden shack and I’d still love it because you’re there.”</p><p class="p1">The way he has with words sends those butterflies in my stomach flying the same way they do every time he walks into a room, every time I introduce him as my boyfriend, every time I tell him I love him before I leave for school and Harry for work.</p><p class="p1">“I want that, too.” More than anything, maybe. It just hasn’t been the right time, but I think it could be now.</p><p class="p1">“Then it’s settled. We’ll get married and then we’ll buy whatever house you want and we’ll start a family.”</p><p class="p1">“I want an actual proposal,” I say a little too quickly. “Don’t think this cuts it.”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, leaning forward to kiss my cheek a couple of times. “I was definitely planning on proposing to you.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” I utter teasingly. “Can we schedule a tour for this house?”</p><p class="p1">“I’ll contact them in the morning.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” I say again, closing the laptop suddenly and turning around to face him on my knees. He looks at me in anticipation, and I rub my hands over his cheeks, thumbing at the dimples that form as he smiles. “I love you.”</p><p class="p1">“I love you,” he says back, both of us looking at each other until we aren’t, and his hands are on my ass and shoving my boxers out of the way, and yes.</p><p class="p1">Yes, yes, yes.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">I’m late.</p><p class="p1">Well, at least I’m some form of late. My form of late is different than everyone else’s version of late. My version means that I won’t get to class thirty minutes early to review the material. Maybe it’s more like fifteen.</p><p class="p1">I can’t find my textbook, and that totally makes sense given I rarely use this one, all of the material floating around in my brain at any time. The semester I had to use it, Harry helped me any time he could with memorizing it front to back. It’s a big one for the UBE. Only one chapter in there, chapter eight, is complicated, and I have a sneaking suspicion the terms are going to come back and haunt me today. That’s why I need the book. Just need one quick glance—</p><p class="p1">“Harry, have you seen my textbook?” I ask out of breath and in a rush.</p><p class="p1">“Which one?”</p><p class="p1">“The one with the stupid lighthouse on the cover.”</p><p class="p1">“Should be in the office,” he calls back, and I roll my eyes, huffing my way dramatically to his office. There are stacks upon stacks of books and papers that kind of make this feel like deja vu from the first time I studied for the practice exam, and now they’re only paired up with more of him too now that he’s making a transition from his office to the new one.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck,” I sigh under my breath, sifting through everything in front of me.</p><p class="p1">“Why do you need that one anyway?” Harry’s voice is closer now, and I look up quickly to find him leaning against the door with his ankles and arms crossed, glasses sitting comfortably on his nose like they have been every morning when he realized he needed to squint to read his magazines. “You have everything in that book mastered. I was there.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, well,” I shrug, moving a big pile of papers out of the way. “There was that one chapter.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yes,” he replies like he’s known all along. “Chapter eight.”</p><p class="p1">“I just need to look up a few of the terms...” I trail off when I find the book, almost throwing it down onto the table in front of me and aggressively opening it. I just want to get to class. I need to follow my routine, I need to—Chapter eight is page 248. Perfect. My fingers work so fast to get there, and the moment I’m at the title page I freeze.</p><p class="p1">Like actually freeze.</p><p class="p1">Everything’s in order, looking exactly how it should. Everything but the bright yellow Post It in the middle of the page. Harry’s writing covers it, his sloppy words molding together to form the most simple yet heavy question all just right here in blue pen ink.</p><p class="p1">“Harry,” I breathe out, tracing over his words covering up the text that there’s no way I care about anymore. Not when sitting in front of me is a sticky note with the words ‘Will you marry me?’ on it.</p><p class="p1">“I put that there a couple of months ago. You’ve brought up needing to go back through that chapter for this class at some point, but I didn’t think you meant down the line. It took you a bit longer than I anticipated.”</p><p class="p1">“Harry,” I repeat again, still touching the words. “I don’t know what to say.” Yes, obviously. I will say yes. The words just aren’t coming to me. They’re simply stuck somewhere in my body trying to figure out how we became this unit, this pairing, this something that evolved into getting fucking married.</p><p class="p1">It feels like I was just dancing in that club to some bass-heavy music, spying him from across the way because his eyes were burning holes into my skin. It feels like I was just dancing on him a little nervously because he was attractive and cocky and knew he would take me home and he was right. It feels like I was just barely noticing his penthouse hotel suite the first night, pushing him down onto the couch in the middle of it all and undoing his belt quicker than I could think.</p><p class="p1">“Say yes,” Harry offers with a shrug, walking over to me now. “I know that it’s early, and I know you have class soon, and I kind of hate that it happened now because I feel like I don’t have enough time to really say what I want to, but I know you didn’t want anything extravagant so this is all I’ll say.” He takes a deep breath, taking my face in between his hands so we’re looking eye to eye. I don’t know how he’s so breathtaking in the mornings. “Tonight, I want you to wear one of your best suits, and I want you to be ready by seven. I’m going to take you out to dinner at the sushi place you loved so much off Commerce Street, and I’m going to get down on one knee right now so the only pair of eyes on you waiting for an answer is mine.” He does just that, kneeling down on the floor and pulling a box out of his pocket. I hold my breath when he opens it, revealing a shining silver band gleaming up at me. “You are the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I don’t care if that sounds absolutely cliche. I just—I love you, Louis Tomlinson. More than I thought I would ever love a person. It’s an honor that you love me back, and I just want that every day until I can’t have it anymore but maybe even then, too, because I’ll still try to find you.”</p><p class="p1">“Harry, this is...” Words still fail me, and I default on letting him finish because he looks like he isn’t quite done.</p><p class="p1">“So here I am asking you at 9 in the morning with your backpack straps on the shoulders I know I’ll massage later and your shirt you tucked in because it really belongs to me: Will you marry me?”</p><p class="p1">He’s staring up at me with his gorgeous, soft eyes and a smile I can never resist, and I notice that his hand is shaking just a little bit, his chest moving heavier than normal. It’s ironic how much he can do without blinking, and yet he kneels here before me like it’s the first time he’s ever made a bold declaration. </p><p class="p1">I nod before I speak, head moving so fast it could probably snap off, and my cheeks feel wet which means I’ve apparently been crying, and what else is there for me to say other than yes?</p><p class="p1">“I’ll marry you,” I say softly, wiping away the tears I’m aware of now. “I’ll marry you.”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll marry me?” He asks happily and for clarification.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll marry you, Harry Styles,” I repeat, holding out my hand, and at first he’s just staring up at me in awe until I remind him what’s going on. “Can I wear the ring?”</p><p class="p1">“You absolutely can,” he answers quickly when he snaps out of it, hands definitely still shaking when he goes to slide it over my finger, but it fits so well. Exactly how it should.</p><p class="p1">“This is beautiful,” I almost whisper as I hold up enough for the light to catch.</p><p class="p1">“It’s simple. Just like you’ve talked about wanting. Don’t think I haven’t been paying attention all of this time.”</p><p class="p1">I shake my head, grabbing at his face to pull him to my lips. “Come here, come here.”</p><p class="p1">We kiss in the way that I imagine couples kiss after this moment—a smile too wide to fully connect our lips, laughing into it and then settling down so it’s just the sound of happy sighs as we move together as well as we have since the beginning. It’s calm and buzzing all at once, and I don’t want to pull away.</p><p class="p1">He does it for me after a few minutes, breathing heavily as he presses his forehead to mine, his hands now on my cheeks and mine enclosed around his wrists. “I don’t want to make you any later than you already are.”</p><p class="p1">“We just got engaged. Who cares about being late?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” he shakes his head firmly. “We’ve made it thus far without me completely compromising your schedule.” </p><p class="p1">“Fine,” I pout, kissing him again for not as long but with just as much of the passion. “Tonight at seven?”</p><p class="p1">“Tonight at seven,” he echos with a nod, gently tapping on my hip with his left hand. “Now go. I’ll see you later.”</p><p class="p1">I pull away from him against all the voices telling me not to, turning to walk backward when I’m almost to the office door. “I love you.”</p><p class="p1">“I love you,” he says with a bright smile, leaning against his desk as he watches me walk away. God, I’m so lucky. So fucking lucky.</p><p class="p1">Niall should be waiting for me the moment I walk out of the building, so I take the time I have in the elevator and walking through the corridors to dial a number on my phone.</p><p class="p1">My father hasn’t turned off the line for my mother’s work phone, and it still sits in her corner of the room on the end table near the chair she used to sit in to draw mock-ups if she needed to. Plus, the storage is unlimited. And at this point probably filled with calls from only me recently.</p><p class="p1">She’d want to know about this.</p><p class="p1">I wait until after I hear her voice telling customers she’s away but will be back soon, and they should leave their number and their name in the body of the message. The beep sounds, and I take a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling of the elevator as I speak.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, Mom. It’s just Louis again. I just wanted to tell you that the guy you called your angel at the hospital a few years ago? I’m marrying him.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you again for reading!! </p><p>i think i'm gonna post lil one shots with our boys here as i write them so be on the look out for those!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>